j  maian  uiiei, ' 


A_TALE  OF  LIFE  IN  MEXICO, 

~— — —        — 


THE 


TRACK. 


BY 


GUSTAVE  AJMAM), 

THE 

n'  n          '"   "PIKATE'S  OF   THE   PRAIRIES,"  "THK  TKAPPEK'S 

GOLD    SEEKERS,"    "THE    TIGER    SLAYER," 

"THE  BORDER  RIFLES,"  "THE  FREE- 
30TBBS,"  "THK  \VHITE  SCALPER,"  -TRAPPERS  OF   \R- 
KAHSAWV   "THE   CHIEF  OF  TUK  -  LAST  op 

THE   KXCAS,"    '-THE   QL'EEN   OF  THE   SAVA.XAUi  " 
"THE     ADYENTUKERS,"     "THE     Ti;,\I'i' 
"THE     PEARLS     OF    THE    ANDES,''     "THE 
SMUGGLES,"    "STRONGHAND,   OR    THE 
K013LE  KEVEWGE,"  ETC.,  ETC  ,   ; 


m 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.   B     PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS;" 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


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THE 


RED    TRACK. 


BY 


AUTHOR    OF    "THE    TRAIL    HUNTER,"    "THE    PRAIRIE    FLOWER,"    "THE    INDIAN 

SCOUT,"  "PIRATES  OF  THE  PRAIRIES,"   "THE  TRAPPER'S  DAUGHTER,"   "THE 

GOLD    SEEKERS,"  "THE    TIGER   SLAYER,"    "THE    INDIAN    CHIEF,"  "THE 

FREEBOOTERS,"    "  THE   BORDER    RIFLES,"    "  THE  WHITE    SCALPER," 

"THE  TRAPPERS  OF  ARKANSAW,"  "THE  CHIEF  OF  THE  AUCAS," 

"THE    LAST     OF    THE    INCAS,"     "THE     QUEEN     OR.   THE 

SAVANNAH,"   "  THE  PEARLS   OF  THE  ANDES,"  "  THE 

ADVENTURERS,"      "THE      TRAPPERS,"      "THE 

SMUGGLER,"      "  STRONGIIAND,      OR     THE 

NOBLE   REVENGE,"  ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


T.    B.    PETERSON    &    BROTHERS, 

306     CHESTNUT    STREET. 


A 


PREFACE 


THE  present  volume  of  GUSTAVE  AIMARD'S  works  is  a  continuation  of  the 
"  Indian  Chief,"  and  conclusion  of  the  series  comprising  that  work,  the  "  Gold 
Seekers,"  and  the  "  Tiger  Slayer." 

At  the  present  moment,  while  the  French  are  engaged  in  a  war  with  Mexico, 
I  feel  assured  that  the  extraordinary  and  startling  descriptions  given  in  this 
volume  of  the  social  condition  and  mode  of  life  in  the  capital  of  that  country 
will  be  read  with  universal  gratification ;  for  I  can  assert  confidently  that  no  pre 
vious  writer  has  ever  produced  such  a  graphic  and  truthful  account  of  a  city  with 
which  the  illustrated  papers  are  now  making  us  thoroughly  acquainted. 

If  a  further  recommendation  be  needed,  it  will  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the 
present  volume  appears  in  an  English  garb  before  being  introduced  to  French 
readers.  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  is  so  gratified  with  the  reception  his  works  have 
found  in  this  country,  through  my  poor  assistance,  that  he  has  considered  he 
could  not  supply  a  better  proof  of  his  thankfulness  than  by  permitting  his  Eng 
lish  readers  to  enjoy,  on  this  occasion,  the  first-fruits  of  his  versatile  and  clever 
pen.  This  is  a  compliment  which,  I  trust,  will  be  duly  appreciated;  for,  as  to 
the  merits  of  the  work  itself,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt.  Readers  may 
imagine  it  impossible  for  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  to  surpass  his  previous  triumphs  in 
the  wildly  romantic,  or  that  he  could  invent  any  thing  equal  to  the  "  Prairie 
Flower,"  a  work  which  I  venture  to  affirm  to  be  the  finest  Indian  tale  ever  yet 
written,  in  spite  of  the  great  authors  who  have  preceded  AIMARD;  but  I  ask 
my  reader's  special  admiration  for  the  "Red  Track,"  because  in  it  our  favorite 
author  strikes  out  a  new  path,  and  displays  a  versatility  which  puts  to  the  blush 
those  bilious  critics,  few  in  number,  I  grant,  among  the  multitude  of  encour 
aging  reviewers,  who  have  ventured  an  opinion  that  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  can  only 
write  about  Indian  life,  or,  in  point  of  fact,  that  he  is  merely  a  hunter  describing 
his  own  experiences  under  a  transparent  disguise. 

"Well,  be  it  so;  I  accept  the  assertion.  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  is  but  a  hunter; 
he  has  seen  nought  but  uncivilized  life ;  he  has  spent  years  among  savages,  and 
has  returned  to  his  own  country  to  try  and  grow  Europeanized  again.  What 

15 


13  PREFACE. 

then  ?  The  very  objection  is  a  proof  of  his  veracity ;  and  I  am  fully  of  the  con 
viction  that  every  story  he  has  told  us  is  true.  It  is  not  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  a  man  who  has  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  hunting  the  wild  ani 
mals  of  America — who  has  been  an  adopted  sou  of  the  most  powerful  Indian 
tribes — who  has  for  years  never  known  what  the  morrow  would  bring  forth, 
should  sit  down  to  invent.  The  storehouse  of  his  mind  is  too  amply  filled  with 
marvels  for  him  to  take  that  needless  trouble,  and  he  simply  repeats  on  paper 
the  tales  which  in  olden  times  he  picked  up  at  the  camp-fires,  or  heard  during 
his  wanderings  with  the  wood-rangers. 

And  it  is  as  such  that  I  wish  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  to  be  judged  by  English 
readers.  His  eminent  quality  is  truth.  He  is  a  man  who  could  not  set  down 
a  falsehood,  no  matter  what  the  bribe  might  be.  He  has  lived  through  the 
incidents  he  describes,  and  has  brought  back  to  Europe  the  adventures  of  a 
chequered  life.  He  does  not  attempt  to  fascinate  his  readers  by  a  complicated 
plot.  He  does  not  possess  the  marvellous  invention  of  a  COOPER,  who,  after  a 
slight  acquaintance  with  a  few  powerless  Indians,  wrote  books  which  all  ad 
mirers  of  the  English  language  peruse.  But  GUSTAVE  AIMARD  possesses  a 
higher  quality,  in  the  fact  that  he  only  notes  down  incidents  which  he  has  seen, 
or  which  he  has  received  on  undoubted  evidence  from  his  companions. 

The  present  is  the  twelfth  volume  of  GUSTAVE  AIMARD'S  works  to  which  I 
have  put  my  name ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  captious  criticisms  whose 
motive  may  be  read  between  the  lines,  the  great  body  of  the  British  Press  has 
greeted  our  joint  efforts  with  the  heartiest  applause.  The  success  of  this  series 
has  been  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  cheap  literature.  Day  by  day  the  num 
ber  of  readers  increases,  and  the  publication  of  each  successive  volume  creates 
an  excitement  which  cannot  fail  to  be  most  gratifying  to  the  publishers. 

To  wind  up  this  unusually  long  Preface,  into  which  honest  admiration  for  the 
author  has  alone  induced  me,  I  wish  to  say  that  it  affords  me  an  ever-recurring 
delight  to  introduce  GUSTAVE  AIMARD'S  works  to  English  readers,  while  it 
causes  me  an  extra  pleasure,  on  this  occasion,  to  be  enabled  to  repeat  that  the 
present  volume  appears  on  this  side  of  the  Channel  before  it  has  been  intro 
duced  to  French  readers.  And,  knowing  as  I  do  the  number  of  editions  through 
which  AIMARD'S  books  pass  in  his  own  native  land,  I  can  appreciate  the  sacri 
fice  he  has  made  on  this  occasion  at  its  full  value. 

LASCELLES  WRAXALL. 
DRAYTON  TERRACE,  WEST  BROMPTON. 
London,  December,  1863. 


FROM  "BENTLEY'S  MISCELLANY/ 


WHAT  may  be  termed  savage  litera-  j 
tnre  always  possesses  a  great  fascination  i 
for  the  reader,  and  the  few  writers  who  i 
have  devoted  themselves  to  that  field  i 
-have  always  secured  ready  perusal.  • 
Who  is  there  among  us  who  has  not  j 
hung  with  breathless  interest  over  the 
"  Last  of  the  Mohicans  ?"  or  followed  > 
the  "  Pathfinder"  through  the  series  of  j 
works  that  depict  his  adventurous  ca-  j 
reer  ?  Next  came  Ruxton,  too  soon  j 
taken  from  ns,  alas  1  but  the  few  me- 1 
mortals  he  left  showed  how  great  a  loss  i 
our  literature  suffered  in  him.  Lastly,  we  ! 
have  had  Mayne  Reid,  who  hashis  readers  | 
by  tens  of  thousands,  and  whose  novels  ! 
are  full  of  incident  and  vitality.  Others  j 
have  trod  this  field  and  have  failed :  in  j 
charity  to  them  we  will  omit  their  j 
names. 

This  literature  has,  hitherto,  been 
almost  indigenous  to  the  Anglo-Ameri 
cans,  for  no  other  nation  has  come  so 
much  in  contact  with  the  savages  as 
those  who  sent  forth  these  daring  pio 
neers  from  North  and  South  to  drive  the 
ludians  further  and  further  back  from 
their  hunting-grounds.  Among  Ger- 
mr.ns,  the  only  persons  who  have  touched 
on  the  Indians  are  Charles  Sealsfield,  in 
his  "  Cabin  Book,"  and  Kohl,  who  gave 
us  his  charming  monogram  of  the  Ojib- 
beways  in  his  "  Travels  Round  Lake 
Superior."  The  French  had  a  very 
celebrated  representative,  Louis  de  Bel- 
lamare,  better  known  as  Gabriel  Ferry, 
but  even  his  deservedly  great  reputation, 
resting  on  his  "  Coureur  de  Bois,"  has 
paled  before  the  rising  lustre  of  Gustave 
Aimard,  who  is  at  once  the  French 
Mayne  Reid  and  Fennimore  Cooper. 


Aimard's  Indian  tales  will  be  found 
superior  to  those  of  both  the  above- 
named  authors,  and  for  very  simple 
reasons.  Although  Cooper  possessed  a 
great  talent  for  inventing  a  story,  the 
misfortune  is,  that  the  scene  is  laid 
within  a  very  confined  space  :  he  deals 
with  only  the  eastern  tribes,  those  which 
the  Yankee  element  came  most  into  col 
lision  with  ;  and  these  tribes,  inexorably 
driven  back  before  the  white  man,  soon 
lost  those  salient  points  which  distin 
guish  the  savage  of  the  western  prairies. 
The  Tnscaroras  and  Delawares  were  not 
lords  of  the  land  after  the  landing  of  the 
first  pale  faces ;  they  contended  inch  by 
inch  of  their  territory,  it  is  true,  but 
their  opponents  had  the  prestige  of  v'c- 
tory,  and  the  tribes,  decimated  by  whis 
key  and  white  diseases,  had  not  the 
energy  left  to  resist.  If  they  formed  a 
confederation,  it  was  but  limited  in  its 
extent,  and  fell  to  pieces  from  internal 
dissension.  Cooper  was,  therefore,  vir 
tually  right  in  calling  one  of  his  booka 
"  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  even 
though  the  scattered  fragments  of  that 
race  still  exist  beyond  the  Missis 
sippi. 

Mayne  Reid,  on  the  other  hand,  acted 

wisely  in  laying  the  scene  of  his  stories 

among  the    untamable    tribes    of   the 

western     prairies — the     Pawnees,     the 

|  Apaches,    and    the     Camanches — that 

haughty  race  which  calls  itself  "  Queen 

of  the  Prairies,"  and  defies  the  white 

!  man.     These  tribes  still  lord  it  in  the 

j  desert ;  they  are  constantly  at  war  with 

the  pale  faces,  and  during  the  "  Mexican 

moon"  commit  frightful  ravages  in  So- 

nora  and  along  the  frontier.     The  de- 

flT) 


18 


GUSTAVE   AIMARD  S  WRITINGS. 


generate  descendants  of  Cortez  are 
unable  to  resist  them,  and  they  spread 
desolation  on  their  path.  Villages,  even 
towns,  are  burned,  the  crops  are  ruth 
lessly  destroyed,  and  the  women  led  into 
captivity,  to  become  the  slaves  of  the 
red-skin  warriors.  Such  men,  though 
they  be  savages,  supply  a  thrilling  sub 
ject  for  the  romance  writer,  and  Mayne 
Reid  did  well  in  laying  the  scene  of  his 
Indian  tales  among  them. 

Unfortunately,  however,  when  yon 
have  read  one  of  Captain  Reid's  stories, 
you  have  read  them  all,  for  a  marvellous 
likeness  pervades  them.  The  feeling 
cannot  be  overcome  that,  having  ex 
hausted  his  stock  of  personal  observa 
tion  in  his  earlier  works,  he  repeats  him 
self,  or  is  obliged  to  fall  back  on  reading. 
Another  great  defect  in  these  otherwise 
charming  tales  is  the  utter  absence  of 
plot :  you  have  incidents  piled  on  inci 
dents,  but  the  conclusion  lies  as  plainly 
before  you  as  the  town  you  are  traveling 
to  on  a  Dutch  road.  It  may  be  that 
Mayne  Reid,  having  to  write  fora  popu 
lar  periodical,  does  not  display  that 
artistic  finish  of  which  we  believe  him 
quite  capable,  and  that,  under  different 
circumstances,  he  might  produce  works 
in  every  way  satisfactory  to  his  readers  ; 
but  there  is  nothing  more  injurious,  he 
should  remember,  to  a  popular  author 
than  the  whispered  "he  is  writing  him 
self  out,"  from  which  some  of  our  best 
writers  are  now  suffering,  simply  because, 
having  made  a  reputation,  they  do 
nothing  on  their  side  to  support  it. 

The  case  is  very  different,  however, 
with  the  subject  of  our  paper.  Gustave 
Aimard  has  written  some  dozen  Indian 
tales,  all  interesting  and  all  unlike.  The 
great  charm  of  his  stories  is,  indubita 
bly,  the  vitality  he  manages  to  throw 
into  them;  and  he  writes  with  such 
spirit,  that,  while  reading,  you  cannot 
but  imagine  that  he  is  describing  to  you 
scenes  of  which  he  was  an  eye-witness. 
Arid  this  was  very  probably  the  case, 
for  Aimard's  life  has  been  one  which  we 
defy  the  most  practised  romancer  to 
out-romance.  He  has  lived  an  age  (for 
such  an  existence  cannot  be  measured 
by  years)  among  the  savages.  As 
adopted  son  of  one  of  the  most  power- 


ul  Indian  nations,  he  has  fought,  hunted, 
trapped  by  their  side,  and  is  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  their  every  ruse.  But 
this  is  not  all ;  and  fortunately  for  his 
readers,  he  has  gone  through  every 
phase  of  desert  life.  He  has  been  in 
iurn  squatter,  hunter,  trapper,  and  miner, 
and  has  seen  the  mode  of  life  of  all  the 
adventurers  who  traverse  the  Indian 
deserts  in  every  direction.  Twice  he 
was  led  to  the  stake  of  torture  by  the 
Apaches,  and  only  saved  by  a  miracle  ; 
he  wandered  about  alone  for  upwards 
of  a  month  on  the  great  Del  Norte 
desert ;  he  was  a  slave  in  one  of  the 
sacred  cities  of  the  Sun,  and  is  probably 
the  only  European  who  returned  alive 
from  those  gloomy  caverns,  where  the 
sacred  fire  of  Montezuma  is  still  kept 
burning,  carefully  tended  by  the  Vestals, 
as  in  ancient  Rome  ;  he  was  a  prisoner 
for  a  lengthened  period  with  the  cruel 
and  treacherous  Patagonians  —  in  a 
word,  there  is  not  a  portion  of  uncivilized 
America,  North  or  South,  which  he  has 
not  traversed,  with  his  good  rifle  in  hand, 
in  defiance  of  the  wild  beasts  and  the  still 
wilder  and  more  dangerous  inhabitants. 
But  even  such  a  life  as  this  would 
avail  a  man  but  little  for  literary  pur 
suits,  unless  he  possessed  the  gift  of 
putting  it  in  an  attractive  form,  and  thia 
Gustave  Aimard  has  in  an  eminent 
degree.  He  is  endowed  with  all  the 
qualities  of  a  novelist,  and  while  his 
works  read  so  truthfully,  they  are  of 
absorbing  interest,  owing  to  the  clever 
way  in  which  the  author  maintains  the 
surprise,  which  is  the  great  character 
istic,  even  though  an  unworthy  one, 
perhaps,  of  the  successful  novelist. 
With  the  first  novel  he  produced  on  his 
return,  "The  Grand  Chief  of  the  Aucas," 
his  reputation  was  established  in  France, 
and  he  has  constantly  marched  to  fresh 
triumphs.  Nearly  every  month  a  fresh 
work  is  produced  from  his  prolific  pen ; 
and  yet,  though  we  have  read  them  all 
with  unabated  interest,  we  have  not 
found  an  instance  where  he  has  repeated 
them,  excepting,  of  course,  where  he  has 
found  it  necessary  to  describe  Indian 
manners  and  customs,  which  do  not 
vary.  Many  of  his  earlier  works  have 
reached  the  sixth  edition,  and  we  may 


GUSTAVE  AIMARD'S  WRITINGS. 


19 


safely  say  that  he  has  a  clientele  in 'hundred  men,  and  with  no  guns,  has  hard- 
Paris  greater  than  even  Paul  de  Kock  ly  been  surpassed  in  the  history  of  modern 
had  in  his  palmiest  days.  warfare.*  No  better  hero  for  a  romance 

It  is  no  slight  merit  for  a  French  could  have  offered;  and  while  M.  Aimard 
author  to  achieve,  that  these  works  do  j  has  adhered  rather  closely  to  facts,  he  has 
not  contain  a  single  line  which  an  interwoven  a  web  of  human  interest  by 
English  reader  would  wish  away.  M.  j  sundry  love  passages  that  take  place 
Aimard  is  too  truly  a  man  to  attempt  j  between  the  count  and  the  daughter  of 
corrupting  the  hearts  and  minds  of  his  ,  his  great  enemy,  the  governor  of  Sonora. 


readers  by  high-flown  sentiment ;  if  we 
find  fault  with  him  at  all,  it  is  for  invest- 
in  s  his  Indian  characters  with  too  much 


Among  all  that  is  good,  it  is  difficult 
to  choose  the  best,  but,  in  our  opinion, 
"The  Flower  of  the  Prairie,"  and  its 
humanity,  and  endowing  them  with  !  sequel,  the  "  Indian  Scout,"  are  the  most 
attributes  which  are  generally  the  boast  |  successful  of  all  M.  Aimard's  Indian 
of  civilization  alone.  But  he  is  the  best  stories,  possibly  because  they  deal  more 
judge  of  such  matters  :  he  has  made  the  with  civilization  than  the  rest  of  the  tales 
Indian  character  the  study  of  his  life,  do.  Perhaps  our  readers  will  not  object 
and  we  may  safely  accept  at  his  hands  a '  to  a  short  analysis  of  the  plot,  which  we 
picture  which  we  may  deem  too  flatter- '  trust  will  impel  them  to  seek  the  book 
ing,  but  which,  after  all,  may  be  ex- '.  itself, 
plained  by  the  many-sided  phases  human 
life  assumes,  to  the  skin  that  covers  white, 
red,  or  black.  If  Mrs.  Stowe 
allowed  to  rehabilitate  the  negro 


"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  surely,  no  fault 
is  to  be  found  with  Gustave  Aimard 
because  he  manfully  upholds  the  men 
with  whom  he  spent  so  many  years  of 
his  life,  and  whom  he  learnt  to  love  and 
admire  in  spite  of  their  faults,  which  are, 
after  all,  inherent  in  their  nature. 

After  the  fashion  of  Fennimore 
Cooper,  Airaard  generally  selects  one 
hero,,  whom  he  accompanies  through 
several  volumes,  although  they  are  all 


In  consequence  of  intrigues,  Don  Real 
de   los   Montes  is  obliged  to  fly  from 
was  j  Mexico,  leaving  his  wife  and  daughter 
in  charge  of  his  brother,  Don  Estevan. 
The  latter,  who  had  concocted  the  in 


trigue  in  the  hope  of  succeeding  to  his 
brother's  wealth,  forces  the  ladies  into  a 
convent,  where  the  mother  dies,  and  the 
daughter,  Dona  Luisa,  is  immured  alive 
in  the  oubliettes.  Fortunately  for  her, 
her  young  lover,  Don  Leo  de  Torres, 
hears  of  this,  breaks  into  the  convent, 
carries  her  and  a  companion,  Dona 
Laura,  off,  and  flies  into  the  desert.  So 
eager,  however,  is  Don  Estevan's  pursuit 


complete  in  themselves,  and  require  no  j  in  order  to  destroy  the  last  witness  of  his 
elucidatory    remarks.     In    one    series, }  crime,  that  Don  Leo  is  compelled   to 


composed  of  "The  Pirates  of  the 
Prairies,"  "  The  Trapper's  Daughter," 
"The  Tiger  Slayer,"  "The  Gold 
Seeker,"  and  "The  Indian  Chief,"  his 
hnro  is  the  unfortunate  Count  de  Raous- 
set  Boulbon,  who  fell  a  victim  to  Mexi 
can  ill-faith  in  1848,  and  was  shot  like  a 
dog  by  the  governor  of  Sonora.  His 
hapless  fate  created  a  sensation  through 
out  Europe  at  the  time,  but  faded  away 
in  presence  of  the  weird  political  events 
that  occupied  all  minds  iu  that  eventful 
year.  Had  the  count  been  successful, 
he  would  have  ranked  in  history  by  the 
side  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro,  and  his  ex 
ploit  of  taking  the  fortified  town  of 
Hermosello,  at  the  head  of  scarce  three 


entrust  the  two  ladies  to  Addick,  an 
Apache  chief,  who  conveys  them  to  the 
City  of  the  Sun,  with  the  intention  of 
never  giving  them  up  again.  This  Addick 
is  a  double  rogue,  and  plays  with  both 
parties  for  his  own  profit.  Under  these 
circumstances,  Bon-affut,  the  Eclairenr, 
or  scout,  makes  his  appearance,  accom 
panied  by  another  Canadian  hunter, 
Balle-franche  (the  hero  of  a  previous 
tale),  and  Eagle-head,  a  celebrated 
Camanche  chief.  Don  Estevan  is  cap 
tured  while  arranging  his  villainy,  and 
his  brother,  Don  Mariano,  arrives  in  the 
desert  in  time  to  accuse  him  before  the 
terrible  Court  of  Lynch  Law.  He  is 
found  guilty,  and  unceremoniously  con- 


20 


GUSTAVE  AIHARD'S  WRITINGS. 


demned  to  be  buried  alive,  with  his  right 
hand  free  to  clutch  a  pistol  when  he 
grows  tired  of  his  awful  position. 

Don  Mariano,  however,  relents,  and 
gives  Balle-franche  the  hint  to  liberate 
him.  He  does  so  at  the  last  moment, 
and  receives  his  reward  by  being  knocked 
on  the  head  by  the  ungrateful  villain, 
who  makes  off  with  his  horse  and  joins 
the  Apaches,  to  whom  he  consents  to 
surrender  the  two  ladies,  on  condition 
that  none  of  his  enemies  leave  the  desert 
alive.  On  hearing  the  news  from  Balle- 
franche  that  Don  Estevan  is  free,  the 
gambusinos  break  up  their  camp  at  once, 
and  hasten  off  in  the  hope  of  realizing 
the  ladies  before  Don  Estevan  reaches 
the  city. 

The  description  of  the  march  through 
the  virgin  forests  is  unique,  and  we  would 
gladly  quote  illustrative  passages,  did 
our  space  permit  Suffice  it  to  say  that, 
after  countless  skirmishes  with  the  In 
dians,  they  all  arrive  in  sight  of  the  Sa 
cred  City— to  discover  that  the  Apaches 
have  reached  it  before  them.  At  this 
moment  Bon-affut  appears  as  the  Deus 
ex  machina.  Disguised  as  a  medicine 
man,  and  aided  by  Eagle-head,  he  man 
ages  to  get  into  the  Sacred  City  (the  de 
tailed  description  of  which,  by  the  way, 
is  admirably  done,  and  evidently  by  an 
eye-witness),  and  by  stratagem,,  too  long 
to  describe,  and  would  be  spoiled  in 
shortening,  gets  the  ladies  out.  The 
Europeans  fly,  hotly  pursued  by  the  In 
dians,  who  are  furious  to  avenge  the 
sacrilege  committed  on  their  sacred 
ground,  and  the  party  at  length  enter 
Sonora  to  find  the  Indians  before  them, 
perpetrating  the  horrors  of  the  Mexican 
Moon.  They  are  beleaguered,  and, 
after  a  frightful  combat,  are  about  to 
put  an  end  to  their  lives,  sooner  than 
fall  into  the  hands  of  their  furious  foes, 
when  Eagle-head  arrives  at  the  head  of 
the  Camanches,  and  puts  the  Apaches 
to  flight  with  immense  slaughter. 

This  outline,  naturally  bald  as  it  is, 
will  serve  to  show  the  strong  human  in 
terest  of  the  story,  and  the  powerful  way 
in  which  it  is  worked  out.  But  it  would 
be  hopeless  for  us  to  attempt  to  furnish 
any  idea  of  the  scenes  that  fill  up  the 
volume,  and  the  countless  delicate 


touches  the  author  gives  to  bring  out 
the  Indian  character  in  all  its  glory. 
We  feel  convinced  that  Eagle-head  will 
find  as  many  admirers  as  the  last  chief 
of  the  Mohicans,  for  he  is  quite  as  in 
exorable  and  chivalrous.  The  character 
of  his  squaw,  Fleur  d'Eglantine,  is  also 
most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  altogether 
the  volume  produces  an  effect  on  the 
reader  which  cannot  be  described  but 
must  be  felt.  "Whoever  reads  it  on  our 
recommendation,  will,  we  feel  assured, 
not  be  disappointed. 

In  a  political  point  of  view,  these  In 
dian  tales  possess  considerable  interest, 
as  coming  from  one  who  has  carefully 
studied  the  question.  It  is  very  remark 
able  to  find,  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
that  the  savages,  once  driven  back  thou 
sands  of  miles  from  the  frontier  of  civi 
lization  by  the  Spanish  conquistadors, 
are  gradually  regaining  their  ground, 
and  forcing  the  Mexicans  to  retire  in 
their  turn.  Large  districts,  once  co 
vered  by  haciendas,  have  now  been  re 
gained  to  the  desert ;  the  presidios  built 
to  keep  the  invader  at  bay,  have  been 
ruined,  and  there  is  nothing  to  check  the 
advance  of  the  prairie  Indians  save  their 
own  desire  to  return  home,  after  com 
pleting  a  successful  raid,  and  enjoying 
the  spoils.  With  the  Americans  ad 
vancing  to  the  east  and  south,  the  sav 
ages  on  the  west  and  north,  Mexico,  must 
inevitably  be  swallowed  up  between 
them,  and  the  great  contest  will  com 
mence. 

But,  putting  this  question  aside,  there 
is  another  and  more  cheerful  aspect 
under  which  we  may  regard  the  great 
and  deserved  success  of  Aimard's  Indian 
tales.  It  indicates  that  the  reign  of 
frivolity  and  immorality  which  has  so 
long  weighed  down  French  literature  is 
drawing  to  an  end,  and  that  a  taste  for 
healthier  reading  is  being  produced. 
That  they  are  healthy  reading  we  have 
already  said  ;  that  they  are  deeply  inte 
resting  does  not  admit  of  a  doubt;  and 
that  they  are  decidedly  the  best  of  their 
sort  is  the  opinion  we  entertain,  and 
which  we  believe  our  readers  will  con 
firm  when  they  have  compared  them 
with  other  works  of  the  same  nature 
offered  them  before 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— The  Sierra  of  the  Wind  River ,.,.,,,.  23 

II.— The  Dead  Alive 28 

III— The  Compact 33 

IV.— The  Travellers 38 

Y.— The  Fort  of  the  Chichimeques 43 

YL— The  Surprise ,,,,.. 43 

TIL — The  Explanation 53 

VIII.— A  Declaration  of  War *....  57 

IX. — Mexico «2 

X.— The  Rancho 08 

XL— The  Paseo  de  Bucarelli 73 

XII. — A  Confidential  Conversation 78 

XIIL— Don  Martial 83 

XIV.— The  Yelorio 88 

XV.— The  Convent  of  the  Bernardines 93 

XVI.— The  Confessor ,.,, 98 

XYIL— The  Beginning  of  the  Struggle 103 

XVIII.— A  Visit 108 

XIX.— Assistance  112 

XX.— El  Zaragate 117 

XXL— After  the  Interview 123 

XXIL— The  Blank  Signature ^ 127 

XXIIL— On  the  Road 133 

XXIV.— A  Skirmish 138 

XXV.— Los  Regocijos 142 

XXVL— The  Pronunciamiento ' 147 

XXVII— The  Capilla 152. 

21 


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BY    GU  S  T  A  YE    All  1 1KB. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   SIERRA  OF    THE  WIND   RIVER. 

THE  Rocky  Mountains  form  an 
almost  impassable  barrier  between 
California  and  the  United  States, 
properly  so  called  ;  their  formidable 
denies,  their  rude  valleys,  and  the 
vast  western  plains,  watered  by 
rapid  streams,  are  even  to  the  pre 
sent  day  almost  unknown  to  the 
American  adventurers,  and  are 
rarely  visited  by  the  intrepid  and 
daring  Canadian  trappers. 

The  majestic  mountain  range 
called  the  Sierra  of  the  Wind  River, 
especially  offers  a  grand  and  striking 
picture,  as  it  raises  to  the  skies  its 
white  and  snow-clad  peaks,  which 
extend  indefinitely  in  a  north 
western  direction,  until  they  appear 
on  the  horizon  like  a  white  cloud, 
although  the  experienced  eye  of  the 
trapper  recognizes  in  this  cloud  the 
scarped  outline  of  the  Yellow-stone 
Mountains. 


The  Sierra  of  the  Wind  River  is 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  the 
Rocky  Mountain  range ;  it  forms, 
so  to  speak,  an  immense  plateau, 
thirty  leagues  long,  by  ten  or  twelve 
in  width,  commanded  by  scarped 
peaks,  crowned  with  eternal  snows, 
and  having  at  their  base  narrow  and 
deep  valleys  filled  with  springs, 
streams,  and  rock-bound  lakes. 
These  magnificent  reservoirs  giro 
rise  to  some  of  the  mighty  rivers 
which,  after  running  for  hundreds  of 
miles  through  a  picturesque  terri 
tory,  become  on  one  side  the  afflu 
ents  of  the  Missouri,  on  the  other  of 
the  Columbia,  and  bear  the  tribute 
of  their  waters  to  the  two  oceans. 

In  the  stories  of  the  wood-rangers 
and  trappers,  the  Sierra  of  the  Wind 
River  is  justly  renowned  for  its 
frightful  gorges,  and  the  wild  country 
in  its  vicinity  frequently  serves  as 
a  refuge  to  the  pirates  of  the  prairie, 
and  has  been,  many  a  ti  me  and  oft,  the 
scene  of  obstinate  struggles  between 
the  white  men  and  the  Indians. 

23 


24 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


Toward  the  end  of  June,  1854,  a 
well- mounted  traveller,  carefully 
wrapped  up  in  the  thick  folds  of  a 
sarape,  raised  to  his  eyes,  was  fol 
lowing  one  of  the  most  precipitous 
slopes  of  the  Sierra  of  the  Wind 
River,  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
source  of  the  Green  River,  that  great 
western  Colorado  which  pours  its 
waters  into  the  Gulf  of  California. 

It  was  about  seven  in  the  evening: 
the  traveller  rode  along,  shivering 
from  the  effects  of  an  icy  wind  which 
whistled  mournfully  through  the 
canons.  All  around  had  assumed 
a  saddening  aspect  in  the  vacillating 
moonbeams.  He  rode  on  without 
hearing  the  footfall  of  his  horse,  as 
it  fell  on  the  winding  sheet  of  snow 
that  covered  the  landscape ;  at  times 
the  capricious  windings  of  the  track 
he  was  following  compelled  him 
to  pass  through  thickets,  whose 
branches,  bent  by  the  weight  of 
snow,  stood  out  before  him  like  gi 
gantic  skeletons,  and  struck  each 
other  after  he  had  passed  with  a 
sullen  snap. 

The  traveller  continued  his  jour 
ney,  looking  anxiously  on  both  sides 
of  him.  His  horse,  fatigued  by  a 
long  ride,  hobbled  at  every  step,  and 
in  spiie  of  the  repeated  encourage 
ment  of  its  rider  seemed  determined 
to  stop  short,  when,  after  suddenly- 
turning  an  angle  in  the  track,  it 
suddenly  entered  a  large  clearing, 
where  the  close-growing  grass  formed 
a  circle  about  forty  yards  in  diame 
ter,  and  the  verdure  formed  a  cheery 
contrast  with  the  whiteness  that 
surrounded  it. 

"  Heaven  be  praised !"  the  travel 
ler  exclaimed  in  excellent  French, 
and  giving  a  start  of  pleasure ;  "  here 
is  a  spot  at  last  where  I  can  camp 
for  to-night,  without  any  excessive 
inconvenience.  I  almost  despaired 
of  finding  one." 

While  thus  congratulating  him 


self,  the  traveller  had  stopped  his 
horse  and  dismounted.  His  first 
attention  was  paid  to  his  horse,  from 
which  he  removed  saddle  and  bridle, 
and  which  he  covered  with  his 
sarape,  appearing  to  attach  no  im 
portance  to  the  cold,  which  wa^, 
however,  extremely  severe  in  these 
elevated  regions.  So  soon  as  it  was 
free,  the  animal,  in  spite  of  its  fatigue, 
began  browsing  heartily  on  the 
grass,  and  thus  reassured  about  his 
companion,  the  traveller  began 
thinking  about  making  the  best  ar 
rangements  possible  for  the  night. 

Tall,  thin,  active,  with  a  lofty  and 
capacious  forehead,  an  intelligent 
blue  eye,  sparkling  with  boldness, 
the  stranger  appeared  to  have  been 
long  accustomed  to  desert  life,  and 
to  find  nothing  extraordinary  or  pe 
culiarly  disagreeable  in  the  some 
what  precarious  position  in  which 
he  found  himself  at  this  moment. 

He  was  a  man  who  had  reached 
about  middle  life,  on  whose  brow 
grief,  rather  than  the  fatigue  of  the 
adventurous  life  of  the  desert,  had 
formed  deep  wrinkles,  and  sown 
numerous  silver  threads  in  his  thick 
light  hair;  his  dress  was  a  medium 
between  that  of  the  white  trappers 
and  the  Mexican  gambusinos;  but 
it  was  easy  to  recognize,  in  spite  of 
his  complexion,  bronzed  by  the  sea 
sons,  that  he  was  a  stranger  to  the 
ground  he  trod,  and  that  Europe 
had  witnessed  his  birth. 

After  giving  a  final  glance  of 
satisfaction  at  his  horse,  which  at 
intervals  interrupted  its  repast  to 
raise  its  delicate  and  intelligent 
head  to  him  with  an  expression  of 
pleasure,  he  carried  his  weapons  and 
horse-trappings  to  the  foot  of  a 
rather  lofty  rock,  which  offered  him 
but  a  poor  protection  against  the 
gusts  of  the  night  breeze,  and  then 
began  collecting  dry  wood  to  light 
a  watch-fire. 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


25 


It  was  no  easy  task  to  find  dry 
firewood  at  a  spot  almost  denuded 
of  trees,  and  whose  soil,  covered 
with  snow,  except  in  the  clearing, 
allowed  nothing  to  be  distinguished  ; 
but  the  traveller  was  patient:  he 
would  not  be  beaten ;  and  within  an 
hour  he  had  collected  sufficient  wood 
to  feed  through  the  night  two  such 
fires  as  he  proposed  kindling.  The 
branches  soon  crackled,  and  a  bright 
flame  rose  joyously  in  a  long  spiral 
to  the  sky. 

''Ah !"  said  the  traveller,  who, 
like  all  men  constrained  to  live 
alone,  seemed  to  have  contracted 
the  habit  of  soliloquizing  aloud, 
"the  fire  will  do,  so  now  for  sup 
per." 

Then,  fumbling  in  the  aforgas,  or 
double  pockets  which  travellers  al 
ways  carry  fastened  to  the  saddle, 
he  took  from  them  all  the  requisite 
elements  of  a  frugal  meal;  that  is 
to  say,  cecina,  pemmican,  and  sev 
eral  varas  of  tasajo,  or  meat  dried 
in  the  sun.  At  the  moment  when, 
after  shutting  up  his  allbrgas,  the 
traveller  raised  his  head  to  lay  his 
meat  on  the  embers  to  broil,  he 
stopped  motionless,  with  widely- 
opened  mouth,  and  it  was  only 
through  a  mighty  strength  of  will 
that  he  suppressed  a  cry  of  surprise 
and  possibly  of  terror.  Although 
no  sound  had  revealed  his  presence, 
a  man,  leaning  on  a  long  rifle,  was 
standing  motionless  before  him,  and 
gazing  at  him  with  profound  atten 
tion. 

At  once  mastering  the  emotion  he 
felt,  the  traveller  carefully  laid  the 
tasajo  on  the  embers,  and  then,  with 
out  removing  his  eye  from  this 
strange  visitor,  he  stretched  out  his 
arm  to  grasp  his  rifle,  while  saying, 
in  a  tone  of  the  most  perfect  indif 
ference — 

"  Whether  friend  or  foe,  you  are 


welcome,  mate.  'Tis  a  bitter  night, 
so,  if  you  are  cold,  warm  yourself, 
and  if  you  are  hungry,  eat.  When 
your  nerves  have  regained  their 
elasticity,  and  your  body  its  usual 
strength,  we  will  have  a  frank  ex 
planation,  such  as  'men  of  honor 
ought  to  have." 

The  stranger  remained  silent  for 
some  seconds;  then,  after  shaking 
his  head  several  times,  he  com 
menced  in  a  low  and  melancholy 
voice,  as  it  were  speaking  to  him 
self  rather  than  replying  to  the 
question  asked  him — 

"Can  any  human  being  really  ex 
ist  in  whose  heart  a  feeling  of  pity 
still  remains  ?" 

"  Make  the  trial,  mate,"  the  trav 
eller  answered  quickly,  "  by  accept 
ing,  without  hesitation,  my  hearty 
offer.  Two  men  who  meet  in  the 
desert  must  be  friends  at  first  sight, 
unless  private  reasons  make  them 
implacable  enemies.  Sit  down  by 
my  side  and  eat." 

This  dialogue  had  been  held  in 
Spanish,  a  language  the  stranger 
spoke  with  a  facility  that  proved  his 
Mexican  origin.  He  seemed  to  re 
flect  for  a  moment,  and  then  in 
stantly  made  up  his  mind. 

"I  accept,"  he  said,  "for  your 
voice  is  too  sympathizing  and  your 
glance  too  frank  to  deceive." 

"That  is  the  way  to  speak,"  the 
traveller  said,  gayly.  "Sit  down 
and  eat  without  further  delay,  for  I 
confess  to  you  that  I  am  dying  of 
hunger." 

The  stranger  smiled  sadly,  and 
sat  down  on  the  ground  by  the 
traveller's  side.  The  two  men, 
thus  strangely  brought  together  by 
accident,  then  attacked  with  no 
ordinary  vigor,  which  evidenced  a 
long  fast,  the  provisions  placed  be 
fore  them.  Still,  while  eating,  the 
traveller  did  not  fail  to  examine  his 


26 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


singular  companion ;  and  the  fol 
lowing  was  the  result  of  his  ob 
servations. 

The  general  appearance  of  the 
stranger  was  most  wretched,  and 
his  ragged  clothes  scarce  covered 
his  bony,  fleshless  body ;  while  his 
pale  and  sickly  features  were  ren 
dered  more  sad  and  gloomy  by  a 
thick,  disordered  beard  that  fell  on 
his  chest.  His  eyes,  inflamed  by 
fever,  and  surrounded  by  black  cir 
cles,  glistened  with  a  sombre  fire, 
and  at  times  emitted  flashes  of 
magnetic  radiance.  His  weapons 
were  in  as  bad  a  condition  as  his 
clothes,  and  in  the  event  of  a  fight 
this  man,  with  the  exception  of  his 
bodily  strength,  which  must  once 
have  been  great,  but  which  priva 
tions  of  every  description,  and  pro 
bably  endured  for  a  lengthened 
period,  had  exhausted,  would  not 
have  been  a  formidable  adversary  for 
the  traveller.  Still,  beneath  this  truly 
wretched  appearance  could  be  traced 
an  organization  crushed  by  grief. 
There  was  in  this  man  something 
grand  and  sympathetic,  which  ap 
peared  to  emanate  from  his  person, 
and  aroused  not  only  pity  but  also 
respect  for  torture  so  proudly  hid 
den  and  so  nobly  endured.  This 
man,  in  short,  ere  he  fell  so  low, 
must  have  been  great,  either  in 
virtue  or  in  vice;  but  assuredly 
there  was  nothing  common  about 
him,  and  a  mighty  heart  beat  in  his 
bosom. 

Such  was  the  impression  the 
stranger  produced  on  his  host,  while 
both,  without  the  interchange  of  a 
word,  appeased  an  appetite  sharp 
ened  by  long  hours  of  abstinence. 
Hunters'  meals  are  short,  and  the 
present  one  lasted  hardly  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  When  it  was  over,  the 
traveller  rolled  a  cigarette,  and, 
handing  it  to  the  stranger,  said — 


"  Do  you  smoke  ?" 

On  this  apparently  so  simple 
question  being  asked,  a  strange 
thing  happened  which  will  only  be 
understood  by  smokers  who,  long 
accustomed  to  the  weed,  have  for 
some  reason  or  other  been  deprived 
of  it  for  a  lengthened  period.  The 
stranger's  face  was  suddenly  lit  up 
by  the  effect  of  some  internal  emo 
tion  ;  his  dull  eye  flashed,  and,  seiz 
ing  the  cigarette  with  a  nervous 
tremor,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
choked  by  an  outburst  of  joy  im 
possible  to  render — 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  used  to  smoke." 

There  was  a  rather  long  silence, 
during  which  the  two  men  slowly 
inhaled  the  smoke  of  their  cigarettes, 
and  indulged  in  thought.  The  wind 
howled  fiercely  over  their  heads,  the 
eddying  snow  was  piling  up  around 
them,  and  the  echoes  of  the  canons 
seemed  to  utter  notes  of  complaint. 
It  was  a  horrible  nig.ht.  Beyond 
the  circle  of  light  produced  by  the 
flickering  flame  of  the  watch-fire  all 
was  buried  in  dense  gloom.  The 
picture  presented  by  these  two  men, 
seated  in  the  desert,  strangely  il 
lumined  by  the  bluish  flame,  and 
smoking  calmly  while  suspended 
above  an  unfathomable  abyss,  had 
something  striking  and  awe-inspir 
ing  about  it.  When  the  traveller 
had  finished  his  cigarette,  he  rolled 
another,  and  laid  his  tobacco-pouch 
between  himself  and  his  guest. 

"  Now  that  the  ice  is  broken  be 
tween  us,"  he  said  in  a  friendly  voice, 
"  and  that  we  have  nearly  formed  an 
acquaintance — for  we  have  been  sit 
ting  at  the  same  fire,  and  have  eaten 
and  smoked  together — the  moment 
has  arrived,  I  fancy,,  for  us  to  become 
thoroughly  acquainted." 

The  stranger  nodded  his  head 
silently.  It  was  a  gesture  that  could 
be  interpreted  affirmatively  or  nega- 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


27 


tively,  at  pleasure.  The  traveller 
continued,  with  a  good-humored 
smile, — 

"I  make   not   the  slightest  pre 
tence  to  compel  you  to  reveal  your 
secrets,  and   you  are  at  liberty  to 
maintain  your  incognito  without  in 
any  way  offending  me.     Still,  what 
ever  may  be  the  result,  let  me  give 
you    an   example  of  frankness  by 
telling  you  who  I  am.     My  story 
will  not  be  long,  and  only  consists 
of  a  very  few  words.     France  is  my 
country,  and  I  was  born  at  Paris — 
which  city,  doubtless,"  he  remarked, 
with  a  stifled  sigh,  "  I  shall  never 
see  again.     Reasons  too  lengthy  to 
trouble  you  with,  and  which  would 
interest  'you  but  very  slightly,  led 
me  to  America.     Chance,  or  Provi 
dence,  perhaps,  by  guiding  me  to 
the  desert,  and  arousing  my  instincts 
and  aspirations  for  liberty,  wished 
to  make  a  wood-ranger  of  me,  and 
I  obeyed.     For  twenty  years  I  have 
been   traversing    the    prairies   and 
great  savannahs  in  every  direction, 
and  I  shall  probably  continue  to  do 
so,  till  an  Indian  bullet  comes  from 
some  thicket  to  stop  my  wanderings 
forever.     Towns  are  hateful  to  me ; 
passionately  fond  of  the  grand  spec 
tacles  of  nature,  which  elevate  the 
thought,    and   draw    the    creature 
nearer  to  his  Creator,  I  shall  only 
mix  myself  up  once  again  in  the 
chaos  of  civilization  in  order  to  ful 
fil  a  vow  made  on  the  tomb  of  a 
friend.     When  I  have  done  that,  I 
shall  fly  to  the  most  unknown  de 
serts,  in  order  to  end  a  life  hence 
forth  useless,   far  from  those   men 
whose  paltry  passions  and  base  and 
ignoble  hatred  have  robbed  me  of 
the  small  amount  of  happiness  to 
which   I    fancied   I   have   a  claim. 
And  now,  mate,  you  know  me  as 
well  as  I  do  myself.     I  will  merely 
add,  in  conclusion,  that  my  name 
among  the  white  men,  my  country 


men,  is  Valentine  Guillois,  and  among 
the  red-skins,  my  adopted  fathers, 
Koutenepi — that  is  to  say,  'The 
Valiant  One.'  I  believe  myself  to 
be  as  honest  and  as  brave  as  a  man 
is  permitted  to  be  with  his  imperfect 
organization.  I  never  did  harm 
with  the  intention  of  doing  so,  and 
I  have  done  services  to  my  fellow- 
men  as  often  as  I  had  it  in  my  power, 
without  expecting  from  them  thanks 
or  gratitude." 

The  speech,  which  the  hunter  had 
commenced  in  that  clear  voice  and 
with  that  careless  accent  habitual  to 
him,  terminated  involuntarily,  under 
the  pressure  of  the  flood  of  saddened 
memories  that  rose  from  his  heart  to 
his  lips,  in  a  low  and  inarticulate 
voice,  and  when  he  concluded,  he 
let  his  head  fall  sadly  on  his  chest, 
with  a  sigh  that  resembled  a  sob. 
The  stranger  regarded  him  for  a 
moment  with  an  expression  of  gentle 
commiseration. 

"  You  have  suffered,"  he  said ; 
"suffered  in  your  love,  suffered  in 
your  friendship.  Your  history  is 
that  of  all  men  in  this  world :  who 
of  us,  but  at  a  given  hour,  has  felt 
his  courage  yield  beneath  the  weight 
of  grief?  You  are  alone,  friendless, 
abandoned  by  all,  a  voluntary  exile, 
far  from  the  men  who  only  inspire 
you  with  hatred  and  contempt ;  you 
prefer  the  society  of  wild  beasts,  less 
ferocious  than  they ;  but,  at  any 
rate,  you  live,  while  I  am  a  dead 
man  I" 

The  hunter  started,  and  looked  in 
amazement  at  the  speaker. 

"  I  suppose  'you  think  me  mad  ?" 
he  continued,  with  a  melancholy 
smile;  "reassure  yourself,  it  is  not 
so.  I  am  in  full  possession  of  my 
senses;  rny  head  is  cool,  and  my 
thoughts  are  clear  and  lucid.  For 
all  that  though,  I  repeat  to  you,  I 
am  dead,  dead  in  the  sight  of  my 
relations  and  friends,  dead  to  the 


28 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


whole  world  in  fine,  and  condemned 
to  lead  this  wretched  existence  for 
an  indefinite  period.  Mine  is  a 
strange  story,  and  that  you  would 
recognize  through  one  word,  were 
you  a  Mexican,  or  had  you  travelled 
in  certain  regions  of  Mexico." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  that,  for 
twenty  years,  I  have  been  travelling 
over  every  part  of  America?"  the 
traveller  replied,  his  curiosity  being 
aroused  to  the  highest  pitch. 
"  What  is  the  word  ?  Can  you  tell 
it  me?" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am  alluding  to 
the  name  I  bore  while  I  was  still  a 
living  name." 

"What  is  that  name?" 

"  It  had  acquired  a  certain  celeb 
rity,  but  I  doubt  whether,  even  if 
you  have  heard  it  mentioned,  it  has 
remained  in  your  memory." 

"  Who  knows  ?  Perhaps  you  are 
mistaken." 

"Well,  since  you  insist,  learn, 
then,  that  I  was  called  Martial  el 
Tigrero." 

"You?"  the  hunter  exclaimed, 
under  the  influence  of  the  uttermost 
surprise ;  "  why  that  is  impossible !" 

"  Of  course  so,  since  I  am  dead," 
the  stranger  answered,  bitterly. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

THE   DEAD   ALIVE. 

THE  Tigrero  had  let  his  head  fall 
on  his  chest  again,  and  seemed  en 
gaged  with  gloomy  thoughts.  The 
hunter,  somewhat  embarrassed  by 
the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken, 
and  anxious  to  continue  it,  mechani 
cally  stirred  up  the  fire  with  the 
blade  of  his  navaja,  while  his  eyes 
wandered  around,  and  were  at  times 


fixed  on  his  companion  with  an  ex 
pression  of  deep  sympathy. 

"Stay,"  he  said,  presently,  as  he 
thrust  back  with  his  foot  a  few  em 
bers  that  had  rolled  out;  "pardon 
me,  sir,  any  insult  which  my  excla 
mation  may  seem  to  have  contained. 
You  have  mistaken,  I  assure  you, 
the  meaning  of  my  remarks;  al 
though,  as  we  have  never  met,  we 
are  not  such  strangers  as  you  sup 
pose.  I  have  known  you  for  a  long 
time." 

The  Tigrero  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  at  the  hunter  incredulously. 

"You?"  he  muttered. 

"  Yes,  I,  caballero,  and  it  will  not 
be  difficult  to  prove  it  to  you." 

"What  good  will  it  do?"  he  mur 
mured;  "what  interest  can  I  have 
in  the  fact  of  your  knowing  me?" 

"My  dear  sir,"  the  Frenchman 
continued,  with  several  shakes  of 
his  head,  "  nothing  happens  in  this 
world  by  the  effect  of  chance. 
Above  us,  an  intellect  superior  to 
ours  directs  every  thing  here  below ; 
and  if  we  have  been  permitted  to 
meet  in  a  manner  so  strange  and  un 
expected  in  these  desolate  regions, 
it  is  because  Providence  has  designs 
with  us  which  we  cannot  yet  detect; 
let  us,  therefore,  not  attempt  to  re 
sist  GOD'S  will,  for  what  He  has 
resolved  will  happen :  who  knows 
whether  I  may  not  be  unconsciously 
sent  across  your  path  to  bring  you  a 
supreme  consolation,  or  to  supply 
you  with  the  means  to  accomplish  a 
long  meditated  vengeance,  which 
you  have  hitherto  deemed  impossi 
ble?" 

"I  repeat  to  you,  senor,"  the* 
Tigrero  replied,  "that  your  words 
are  those  of  a  stout-hearted  and 
brave  man,  and  I  feel  involuntarily 
attracted  towards  you.  I  think  with 
you,  that  this  accidental  meeting,  after 
so  many  days  of  solitude  and  grief 
with  a  man  of  your  stamp,  can. 


THE     RED     TKACK. 


not  be  the  effect  of  unintelligent 
chance,  and  that  at  a  moment  when, 
convinced  of  my  impotence  to 
escape  from  my  present  frightful* 
situation,  1  was  reduced  to  despair 
and  almost  resolved  on  suicide,  the 
loyal  hand  you  offer  me  can  only 
be  that  of  a  friend.  Question  me, 
then,  without  hesitation,  and  I  will 
answer  with  the  utmost  frankness." 

"Thanks  for  that  speech,"  the 
hunter  said,  with  emotion,  "  for  it 
proves  that  we  are  beginning  to  un- 
dersfend  each  other,  and  soon,  I 
Ifope,  we  shall  have  no  secrets;  but 
I  must,  before  all  else,  tell  you  how 
it  is  that  I  have  known  you  for  a 
long  time,  although  you  were  not 
aware  of  the  fact." 

"Speak,  senor,  I  am  listening  to 
you  with  the  most  earnest  atten 
tion." 

Valentine  reflected  for  a  moment, 
and  then  went  on  as  follows : — 

"Some  months  ago,  in  conse 
quence  of  circumstances  unneces 
sary  to  remind  you  of,  but  which 
you  doubtless  bear  in  mind,  you 
met  at  the  colony  of  Guetzalli  a 
Frenchman  and  a  Canadian  hunter, 
with  whom  you  eventually  stood  on 
most  intimate  terms." 

"  It  is  true,"  the  Tigrero  replied, 
with  a  nervous  start,  "and  the 
Frenchman  to  whom  you  allude,  is 
the  Count  de  Prebois  Crance.  Oh  ! 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  discharge 
the  debt  of  gratitude  I  have  con 
tracted  with  him  for  the  services  he 
rendered  me." 

A  sad  smile  curled  the  hunter's 
lip.  "  You  no  longer  owe  him  any 
thing,"  he  said,  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  the  Ti 
grero  exclaimed  eagerly;  "surely 
the  count  cannot  be  dead  ?" 

"  He  is  dead,  caballero.    He  was 
assassinated  on  the  shores  of  Guay- 
2 


mas.  His  murderers  laid  him  in 
his  tomb,  and  his  blood,  so  treach 
erously  shed,  cries  to  heaven  for 
vengeance;  but  patience,  heaven 
will  not  permit  this  horrible  crime 
to  remain  unpunished." 

The  hunter  hurriedly  wiped 
away  the  tears  he  had  been  unable 
to  repress  while  speaking  of  the 
count,  and  went  on,  in  a  voice 
choked  by  the  internal  emotion 
which  he  strove  in  vain  to  con 
quer  : — 

"  But  let  us,  for  the  present,  leave 
tbis  sad  reminiscence  to  slumber  in 
our  hearts.  The  count  was  my 
friend,  my  dearest  friend,  more  than 
a  brother  to  me :  he  often  spoke 
about  you  to  me,  and  several  times 
told  me  your  gloomy  history,  which 
terminated  in  a  frightful  catas 
trophe." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  Tigrero  muttered. 
"It  was,  indeed,  a  frightful  catas 
trophe.  I  would  gladly  have  found 
death  at  the  bottom  of  the  abyss 
into  which  I  rolled  during  my  strug 
gle  with  Black  Bear,  could  I  have 
saved  her  I  loved ;  •  but  Goi>  decreed 
it  otherwise,  and  may  his  holy  name 
be  blessed  and  praised." 

"Amen!"  the  hunter  said,  sadly 
turning  his  head  away. 

"  Oh  !"  Don  Martial  continued  a 
moment  later,  "  I  feel  my  recollec 
tions  crowding  upon  rne  at  this  mo 
ment.  I  feel  as  if  the  vail  that 
covers  my  memory  is  torn  asunder, 
in  order  to  recall  events,  already  so 
distant,  but  which  have  left  so  deep 
an  impression  on  my  mind.  I,  too, 
recognize  you  now;  you  are  the 
famous  hunter  whom  the  count  was 
trying  to  find  in  the  desert;  but 
he  did  not  call  you  by  any  of  the 
names  you  have  mentioned." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Valentine  answered, 
"that  he  alluded  to  me  as  the 
4  Trail  Hunter,'  the  name  by  which 


30 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


the  white  hunters  and  the  Indians 
of  the  Far  West  are  accustomed  to 
call  me." 

"  Yes ;  oh,  now  I  remember  per 
fectly,  that  was  indeed  the  name  he 
gave  you.  You  were  right  in  say 
ing  that  we  had  been  long  ac 
quainted,  though  we  had  never 
met." 

"And  now  that  we  meet  in  this 
desert,"  the  hunter  said  offering  his 
hand,  "connected  as  we  are  by  the 
memory  of  our  deceased  friend,  shall 
we  be  friends  ?" 

"No,  not  friends,"  the  Tigrero 
exclaimed,  as  he  heartily  pressed 
the  hunter's  honest  hand ;  "  not 
friends,  but  brothers." 

*'  Well,  then,  brothers,  and  each 
for  the  other  against  all  corners," 
the  hunter  answered.  "And  now 
that  you  are  convinced  that  curiosity 
plays  no  part  in  my  eager  desire  to 
know  what  has  befallen  you  since 
the  moment  when  you  so  hurriedly 
left  your  friends,  speak,  Don  Martial, 
and  then  I  will  tell  you,  in  my  turn, 
what  are  the  motives  that  directed 
my  steps  to  these  desolate  regions." 

The  Tigrero,  in  a  few  moments, 
began  his  narrative  -as  follows : — 

"My  friends  must  have  fancied 
me  dead,  hence  I  cannot  blame  them 
for  having  abandoned  me,  although 
they  were,  perhaps,  too  quick  in 
doing  so  without  an  attempt  either 
to  recover  my  corpse,  or  assure 
themselves  at  least  that  I  was  really 
dead,  and  that  assistance  would  be 
thrown  away;  but  though  I  am 
ignorant  of  what  happened  in  the 
cavern  after  my  fall,  the  bodies  left 
on  the  battle-field  proved  to  me 
afterwards  that  they  had  a  tough 
fight,  and  were  compelled  to  fly  be 
fore  the  Indians ;  hence,  I  say  again 
that  I  do  not  blame  them.  You  are 
aware  that  I  was  attacked  by  Black 
Bear  at  the  moment  when  I  believed 
that  I  had  succeeded  in  saving  those 


whom  I  had  sworn  to  protect.  It 
was  on  the  very  verge  of  the  pit 
that  Black  Bear  and  myself,  en- 
wreathed  like  two  serpents,  began  a 
final  and  decisive  struggle:  at  the 
moment  when  I  had  all  but  suc 
ceeded  in  foiling  my  enemy's  des 
perate  efforts,  and  was  raising  my 
arm  to  cut  his  throat,  the  war-yell 
of  the  Comanches  suddenly  burst 
forth  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern. 
By  a  supreme  effort  the  Apache 
chief  succeeded  in  escaping  from  my 
^clutch,  bounded  on  his  feet,  and 
rushed  towards  Dona  Anita,  doubt 
less  with  the  intention  of  carrying 
her  off,  as  the  unforeseen  assistance 
arriving  for  us  would  prevent  the 
accomplishment  of  his  vengeance. 
But  the  maiden  repulsed  him  with 
that  strength  which  despair  engen 
ders,  and  sought  refuge  behind  her 
father.  Already  severely  wounded 
by  two  shots,  the  chief  tottered  back 
to  the  edge  of  the  pit,  where  he  lost  his 
balance.  Feeling  that  he  was  fall 
ing,  by  an  instinctive  gesture,  or, 
perhaps,  through  a  last  sentiment  of 
fury,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  as 
if  to  save  himself,  caught  hold  of 
me  as  I  rose,  half-stunned  by  my 
recent  contest,  and  we  both  rolled 
down  the  pit,  he  with  a  triumphant 
laugh,  and  I  with  a  shriek  of  des 
pair.  Forgive  me  for  having  de 
scribed  thus  minutely  the  last 
incidents  of  this  fight,  but  I  was 
obliged  to  enter  into  these  details  to 
make  you  thoroughly  understand 
by  what  providential  chance  I  was 
saved,  when  I  fancied  myself  hope 
lessly  lost." 

"  Go  on,  go  on ;"  the  hunter  said, 
"I  am  listening  to  you  with  the 
greatest  attention." 

Don  Martial  continued : —  x 
"The    Indian    was    desperately 
wounded,   and    his    last    effort,    in 
which  he  had  placed  all  his  remain 
ing   strength,  cost  him  his  life:  it 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


31 


was  a  corpse  that  dragged  ni3  down, 
for  during  the  few  seconds  our  fall 
lasted  he  did  not  make  a  movement. 
The  pit  was  not  so  deep  as  I  fancied, 
not  more  than  twenty  or  five-and- 
tfrenty  feet,  and  the  sides  were  cov 
ered  with  plants  and  grass,  which, 
although  they  bent  beneath  our 
weight,  prevented  us  from  falling 
perpendicularly.  The  chief  was  the 
first  to  reach  the  bottom  of  the 
abyss,  and  I  fell  upon  his  body, 
which  deadened  my  fall,  though  it 
was  serious  enough  entirely  to  de 
prive  me  of  consciousness.  I  can 
not  say  how  long  I  remained  in  this 
state,  but,  from  a  calculation  I  made 
afterwards,  my  faint  must  have 
lasted  two  hours.  I  was  aroused 
by  a  cold  sensation  which  suddenly 
affected  me.  I  opened  my  eyes 
again,  and  found  myself  in  utter 
darkness.  At  the  first  moment  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  account 
for  the  situation  in  which  I  found 
myself,  or  what  events  had  placed 
me  in  it ;  but  my  memory  gradually 
returned,  my  thoughts  became  more 
lucid,  and  I  only  desired  to  emerge 
as  speedily  as  possible  from  the  pit 
into  which  I  had  fallen.  I  was  suf 
fering  fearfully,  although  I  was  not 
actually  wounded.  I  had  received 
numerous  contusions  in  my  fall,  and 
the  slightest  movement  caused  me 
an  atrocious  pain,  for  I  was  so 
bruised  and-shaken.  In  my  present 
state  I  must  endure  the  evil  patient 
ly  :  attempting  to  scale  the  sides  of 
the  pit  when  my  strength  was  com 
pletely  exhausted  would  have  been 
madness,  and  I  therefore  resigned 
myself  to  waiting.  I  was  in  com 
plete  darkness,  but  that  did  not 
trouble  me  greatly,  as  I  had  about 
me  every  thing  necessary  to  light  a 
fire.  Within  a  few  moments  I  had 
a  light,  and  was  enabled  to  look 
about  me.  I  was  lying  at  the  bot 
tom  of  a  species  of  funnel,  for  the 


pit  grew  narrower  in  its  descent, 
which  had  greatly  helped  to  deaden 
my  fall ;  my  feet  and  legs  almost  to 
the  knee  were  bathed  in  a  subter 
ranean  stream,  while  the  upper  part 
of  my  body  leant  against  the  corpse 
of  the  Indian  chief.  The  spot  where 
I  found  myself  was  thirty  feet  in 
circumference  at  the  most,  and  I  as 
sured  myself  by  the  help  of  my 
light  that  the  sides  of  the  pit,  en 
tirely  covered  with  creepers,  and 
even  sturdy  shrubs,  rose  in  a  gentle 
slope,  and  would  not  be  difficult  to 
escalade  when  my  strength  had  suf 
ficiently  returned.  At  this  moment 
I  could  not  dream,  of  attempting  the 
ascent,  so  I  bravely  made  up  my 
mind,  and  although  my  anxiety  was 
great  about  the  friends  I  had  Ieft4n 
the  cavern,  I  resolved  to  wait  a  few 
hours  before  proceeding  to  save  my 
self.  I  remained  thus  for  twenty 
hours  at  the  bottom  of  the  pit, 
tete-d-tete  with  my  enemy's  corpse. 
Many  times  during  my  excursions 
in  the  desert  I  had  found  myself  in 
almost  desperate  situations,  but 
never,  I  call  heaven  to  witness,  had 
I  felt  so  completely  abandoned  and 
left  in  the  hands  of  Providence. 
Still,  however  deplorable  my  posi 
tion  might  be,  I  did  not  despair ;  in 
spite  of  the  frightful  pain  I  suffered. 
I  had  convinced  myself  that  my 
limbs  were  in  a  satisfactory  state, 
and  that  all  I  needed  was  patience. 
When  I  fancied  my  strength  suf 
ficiently  restored.  I  lighted  two 
torches,  which  I  fixed  in  the  ground, 
in  order  to  see  more  clearly.  I 
threw  my  rifle  on  my  back,  placed 
my  navaja  between  my  teeth,  and 
clinging  to  the  shrubs,  by  a  desper 
ate  effort  I  began  my  ascent.  1 
will  not  tell  you  of  the  difficulty  1 
had  in  conquering  the  terrible 
shocks  I  was  obliged  to  give  my 
aching  bones  in  surmounting  almost 
unsurpassable  obstacles;  sufficient 


32 


THE     RET)     TRACK. 


for  you  to  know  that  I  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  pit  after  an  hour  and 
a  half's  struggle,  in  which  I  ex- 

<_3O          ' 

pended  all  the  energy  a  man  pos 
sesses  who  hopes  to  save  himself. 
When  I  reached  the  floor  of  the 
cavern,  I  lay  for  more  than  half  an 
hour  on  the  sand,  exhausted,  pant 
ing,  unable  to  make  the  slightest 
movement,  scarce  breathing,  hear- 

O' 

ing  nothing,  seeing  nothing,  not 
even  conscious  of  the  frightful  state 
into  which  I 'was  plunged.  Fortu 
nately  for  me,  this  terrible  condition 
(lid  &ot  last  long,  the  refreshing  air 
from  without,  reaching  me  thro-ugh 
the  passages  of  the  cavern,  recovered 
me,  and  restored  the  entire  use  of 
my  mental  faculties.  The  ground 
around  me  was  covered  with  dead 
bodies,  and  there  had,  doubtless,  been 
a  terrible  struggle  between  the  white, 
men  and  the  red-skins.  I  sought  in 
vain  for  the  corpses  of  Dona  Anita 
and  her  father.  I  breathed  again, 
and  hope  re-entered  my  heart,  for 
my  sacrifice  had  not  been  fruitless. 
Those  for  whom  I  had  given  my 
life  were  saved,  and  I  should  see 
them  aorain.  This  thought  restored 

<—>  O 

my  courage,  and  I  felt  quite  a  dif 
ferent  man.  I  rose  without  any  ex 
cessive  difficulty,  and,  supporting 
myself  on  my  rifle,  went  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  cavern,  after  remov 
ing  my  stock  of  provision,  and 
taking  the  two  powder-horns  from 
the  stores  I  had  previously  cached, 
and  which  my  friends  in  their  flight 
had  not  thought  of  removing.  No 
words  can  describe  the  emotion  I 
felt  when,  after  a  painful  walk 
through  the  grotto,  I  at  length 
reached  the  river-bank,  and  saw  the 
sun  once  more:  a  man  must  have 
been  in  a  similar  desperate  situation 
to  understand  the  cry,  or  rather 
howl  of  joy  which  escaped  from  my 
surcharged  bosom  when  I  felt  again 
the  blessed  sunbeams,  and  inhaled 


the  odorous  breath  of  the  savannah. 
By  an  unreflecting  movement, 
though  it  was  suggested  by  rny 
heart,  I  fell  on  my  knees,  and 
piously  clasping  my  hands,  I 
thanked  Him  who  had  saved  rne, 
and  who  alone  could  do  so.  This 
prayer,  and  the  simple  thanks  'ex 
pressed  by  a  grateful  heart,  were, 
I  feel  convinced,  borne  upwards  to  > 
heaven  on  the  wings  of  rny  guar 
dian  angel. 

"  As  far  as  I  could  make  out  by 
the  height  of  the  sun,  it  was  about 
the  second  hour  of  the  tarde.  The 
deepest  silence  prevailed  around  me ; 
so  far  as  the  vision  could  extend,  the 
prairie  was  deserted ;  Indians  and 
pale  faces  had  disappeared :  I  was 
alone,  alone  with  that  God  who  had 
saved  me  in  so  marvellous  a  fashion, 
and  would  not  abandon  me.  Before 
going  further,  I  took  a  little  nour 
ishment,  which  the  exhaustion  of  my 
strength  rendered  necessary.  When, 
in  the  company  of  Don  Sylva  de 
Torres  and  his  daughter,  I  had  sought 
a  refuge  in  the  cavern,  our  horses 
had  been  abandoned  with  all  the  re 
maining  forage  in  an  adjacent  clear 
ing,  and  I  was  too  well  acquainted 
with  the  instinct  of  these  noble  ani 
mals  to  apprehend  that  they  had  fled. 
On  the  contrary,  I  knew  that,  if  the 
hunters  had  not  taken  them  away,  I 
should  find  them  at  the  very  spot- 
where  I  had  left  them.  A  horse  was  | 
indispensable  for  use,  for  a  dismount 
ed  man  is  lost  in  the  desert,  and 
hence  I  resolved  to  seek  them. 
Bested  by  the  long  halt  I  had  made, 
and  feeling  that  my  strength  had  al 
most  returned,  I  proceeded  without 
hesitation  towards  the  forest.  At 
my  second  call  I  heard  a  rather  loud 
noise  in  a  clump  of  trees ;  the  shrubs 
parted,  and  my  horse  galloped  up 
and  gladly  rubbed  its  intelligent 
head  against  my  shoulder.  I  amply 
returned  the  caresses  the  faithful 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


33 


companion  of  my  adventures  be 
stowed  on  me,  and  then  returned  to 
the  cavern,  where  my  saddle  was. 
An  hour  later,  mounted  on  my  good 
horse,  I  bent  my  steps  towards  houses. 
My  journey  was  a  long  one,  owing 
to  rny  state  of  weakness  and  pros 
tration,  and  when  I  reached  Sonora, 
the  news  I  heard  almost  drove  me 
mad.  Don  Sylva  de  Torre's  had 
been  killed  in  the  fight  with  the 
Apaches,  as  was  probably  his  daugh 
ter,  for  no  one  could  tell  me  any 
thing  about  her.  For  a  month  I 
hovered  between  life  and  death ;  but 
God  in  his  wisdom,  doubtless,  had 
decided  that  1  should  escape  once 
again.  When  hardly  convalescent, 
I  dragged  myself  to  the  house  of 
the  only  man  competent  of  giving 
me  precise  and  positive  information 
about  what  I  wanted  to  learn.  This 
man  refused  to  recognize  me,  al 
though  I  had  kept  up  intimate  rela 
tions  with  him  for  many  years. 
When  I  told  him  my  name  he 
laughed  in  my  face,  and  when  I  in 
sisted,  he  had  me  expelled  by  his 
peons,  telling  me  that  I  was  mad, 
that  Don  Martial  was  dead,  and  I  an 
impostor.  I  went  away  with  rage 
and  despair  in  my  heart.  As  if  they 
had  formed  an  agreement,  all  my 
friends  to  whom  I  presented  myself 
refused  to  recognize  me,  so  thor 
oughly  was  the  report  of  my  death 
believed,  and  it  had  been  accepted  by 
them  as  a  certainty.  All  the  efforts 
I  attempted  to  dissipate  this  alarm 
ing  mistake  and  prove  the  falsehood 
of  the  rumor,  were  in  vain,  for  too 
many  persons  were  interested  in  it 
being  true,  on  account  of  the  large 
estates  I  possessed ;  and  ajso.  I  sup 
pose,  through  a  fear  of  injuring  the 
man  to  whom  I  first  applied— the 
only  living  relation  of  the  Torres 
family,  who,  through  his  high  posi 
tion,  has  immense  influence  in  So 
nora.  What  more  need  I  tell  you, 


my  friend  ?  Disgusted  in  every  way, 
heart-broken  with  grief,  and  recog 
nizing  the  inutility  of  the  efforts  I 
made  against  the  ingratitude  and 
systematic  bad  faith  of  those  with 
whom  I  had  to  deal,  I  left  the  town, 
and,  mounting  my  horse,  returned  to 
the  desert,  seeking  the  most  un 
known  spots  and  desolate  regions  in 
which  to  hide  myself,  and  die  when 
ever  God  decrees  that  I  have  suffered 
sufficiently,  and  recalls  me  to  Him." 

After  saying  this,  the  Tigrero 
was  silent,  and  his  head  sunk  gloom 
ily  on  his  chest. 

"Brother,"  Valentine  said  gently 
to  him,  slightly  touching  his  shoul 
der  to  attract  his  attention,  "you 
have  forgotten  to  tell  me  the  name  of 
that  influential  person  who  had  you 
j  turned  out  of  his  house,  and  treated 
you  as  an  impostor." 

"That  is  true,"  Don  Martial  an 
swered;  "his  name  is  Don  Sebastian 
j  Guerrero,  and  he  is  military  gov 
ernor  of  the  province  of  Sonora." 

The  hunter  quickly  started  to  his 
feet  with  an  exclamation  of  joy. 

"  Don  Martial,"  he  said,  "you  may 
thank  God  for  decreeing  that  we 
should  meet  in  the  desert,  in  order 
that  the  punishment  of  this  man 
should  be  complete." 


CHAPTER  III. 


- 


THE    COMPACT. 


Dox  MARTIAL  gazed  at  the  hun 
ter  in  amazement. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked 
him.  "I  don't  understand  you." 

"  You  will  soon  do  so,  my  friend," 
Valentine  answered.  "How  long 
have  you  been  roaming  about  this 
(  neighborhood?" 


THE   RED   TRACK:. 


"  Nearly  two  months." 

"  In  that  case  you  are  well  ac 
quainted,  I  presume,  with  the  moun 
tains  among  which  we  are  at  this 
moment?" 

"  There  is  not  a  tree  or  a  rock 
whose  exact  position  I  cannot  tell, 
nor  a  wild-beast  trail  which  I  have 
not  followed." 

"  Good  :  are  we  far  from  a  spot 
called  the  'Fort  of  the  Chichim- 


The  Tigrero  reflected  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"Do  you  know  by  what  Indians 
these  mountains  are  inhabited  ?"  he 
at  length  asked. 

"Yes  —  by  poor  wretches  who 
call  themselves  the  Root-Eaters,  and 
whom  the  hunters  and  trappers 
designate  by  the  name  of  the 
'  Worthy  of  Pity.'  They  are,  I  be 
lieve,  timid,  harmless  creatures  —  a 
species  of  incomplete  men,  in  whom 
brutal  instincts  have  stifled  the  in 
tellect  ;  however,  I  only  speak  of 
them  from  hearsay,  for  I  never  saw 
one  of  the  poor  devils." 

"  You  are  perfectly  well  informed 
about  them,  and  they  are  what  you 
depict  them.  I  have  often  had  op 
portunities  of  meeting  them,  and 
have  lamented  the  degree  of  bru- 
talization  into  which  this  hapless 
race  has  fallen." 

"Permit  me  to  remark  that  I  do 
not  see  what  connection  can  exist 
between  this  unhappy  tribe  and.  the 
information  I  ask  of  you." 

"  There  is  a  very  great  one.  Since 
I  have  been  roaming  about  these 
mountains,  you  are  the  first  man  of 
my  color  with  whom  I  have  con 
sented  to  enter  into  relations.  The 
Eoot  Eaters  have  neither  history 
nor  traditions.  Their  life  is  re 
stricted  to  eating,  drinking,  and 
sleeping,  and  I  have  not  learned 
from  them  any  of  the  names  given 
to  the  majestic  peaks  that  surround 


us.  Hence,  though  I  perfectly  well 
know  the  spot  to  which  you  refer, 
unless  you  describe  it  differently,  it 
will  be  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you 
its  exact  position." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  what  you  ask 
of  me  is  very  awkward,  for  this  is 
the  first  time  I  have  visited  these 
parts,  and  it  will  be  rather  difficult 
for  me  to  describe  a  place  I  am  not 
acquainted  with.  Still,  I  will  try. 
There  is,  not  far  from  here,  I  believe, 
a  road  which  traverses  the  Rocky 
Mountains  obliquely,  and  runs  from 
the  United  States  to  Santa  Fe ;  at  a 
certain  spot  this  road  must  intersect 
another  which  leads  to  California." 

"  I  am  perfectly  well  acquainted 
with  the  roads  to  which  you  refer ; 
and  the  caravans  of  emigrants,  hun 
ters,  and  miners  follow  them  in 
going  to  California,  or  returning 
thence." 

"  Good  !  At  the  spot  where  these 
two  roads  cross  they  form  a  species 
of  large  square,  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  rocks  that  rise  to  a  con 
siderable  height.  Do  you  know  the 
place  I  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  Tigrero  answered. 

"  Well,  about  two  gun-shots  from 
this  square  is  a  track  winding  nearly 
in  an  east-south-east  course,  along 
the  side  of  the  mountains.  This 
track,  at  first  so  narrow  that  a  horse 
even  passes  with  difficulty,  gradually 
widens  till  it  reaches  a  species  of 
esplanade,  or  terrace,  if  you  like  it 
better,  which  commands  an  exten 
sive  prospect ;  while  on  its  edge  are 
the  remains  of  barbarous  erections, 
which  can,  however,  be  easily  recog 
nized  as  an  ancient  parapet.  This 
terrace  is  called  the  'Fort  of  the 
Chichimeques,'  though  for  what  rea 
son  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  I  know  no  more  than  you  do 
on  that  head,  although  I  can  now 
assure  you  that  I  am  perfectly  ac 
quainted  with  the  place  to  which 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


35 


you  refer,  arid  have  often  camped 
there  on  stormy  nights,  because 
there  is  a  deep  cavern,  excavated  by 
human  hands,  and  divided  into 
several  passages,  every  turning  of 
which  I  know,  and  which  has  of 
fered  me  a  precious  shelter  during 
those  frightful  tempests  which,  at 
intervals,  overthrow  the  face  of  na 
ture  in  these  regions." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  the  existence 
of  this  grotto,"  the  hunter  said,  with 
a  glad  start,  "and  I  thank  you  for 
having  told  me  of  it ;  it  will  be  very 
useful  for  the  execution  of  the  plans 
I  have  formed.  Are  we  any  great 
distance  from  this  terrace  ?" 

"  In  a  straight  line,  not  more  than 
five  or  six  miles,  and,  if  it  were  day, 
I  could  show  it  to  you ;  but  as  we 
must  ride  round  to  reach  the  cara 
van  road,  which  we  are  obliged  to 
follow  in  order  to  reach  the  tracks, 
we  have  about  three  hours'  ride  be 
fore  us." 

"  That  is  a  trifle ;  for  I  was  afraid 
I  had  lost  my  way  in  these  moun 
tains,  which  are  strange  to.  me.  I 
am  delighted  to  find  that  my  old 
experience  has  not  failed  me  this 
time,  and  that  my  hunter's  instincts 
have  not  deceived  me." 

While  saying  this,  Valentine  had 
risen  to  exgipre  the  clearing.  The 
storm  had  ceased,  the  wind  had 
swept  away  the  clouds,  the  deep- 
blue  sky  was  studded  with  brilliant 
stars,  and  the  moon  profusely  shed 
its  rays,  which  imparted  a  fantastic 
appearance  to  the  landscape  by  cast 
ing  the  shadows  of  the  lofty  trees 
athwart  the  snow,  whose  pallid  car 
pet  spread  far  as  eye  could  see. 

"'Tis  a  magnificent  night,"  the 
hunter  said,  after  carefully  examin 
ing  the  sky  for  some  moments. 
"  It  is  an  hour  past  midnight,  and 
I  do  not  feel  the  slightest  inclination 
to  sleep.  Are  you  fatigued?" 


"  I  am  never  so,"  the  Tigrero  an 
swered,  with  a  smile. 

"All  right :  in  that  case  you  are 
like  myself — a  thorough  wood- 
ranger.  What  do  you  think  of  a 
ride  in  this  magnificent  moonlight?" 

"I  think  that,  after  a  good  supper 
and  an  interesting  conversation, 
nothing  so  thoroughly  restores  the 
balance  of  a  man's  thoughts  as  a 
night  ride  in  the  company  of  a 
friend." 

"  Bravo !  that  is  what  I  call  speak 
ing.  Now,  as  every  ride  to  be  rea 
sonable  should  have  an  object,  we 
will  go,  if  you  have  no  objection, 
as  far  as  the  Fort  of  the  Chichim- 
eques." 

"I  was  about  to  propose  it;  and, 
as  we  ride  along,  you  will  tell  me  in 
your  turn  what  imperious  motive 
compelled  you  to  come  to  these  un 
known  regions,  and  what  the  project 
is  to  which  you  alluded." 

"As  for  that,"  the  hunter  said, 
with  a  knowing  smile,  "I  cannot 
satisfy  you ;  at  any  rate  not  for  the 
present,  as  I  wish  you  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  a  surprise.  But  be  easy, 
I  will  not  put  your  patience  to  too 
long  a  trial." 

"  You  will  act  as  you  think  prop 
er,  for  I  trust  entirely  to  you.  I 
know  not  why,  but  I  am  persuaded, 
either  through  a  sentiment  or  sym 
pathy,  that  in  doing  your  own  busi 
ness  you  will  be  doing  mine  at  the 
same  time." 

"  You  are  nearer  the  truth  at  this 
moment  than  you  perhaps  imagine, 
so  be  of  good  cheer,  brother." 

"  The  happy  meeting  has  already 
made  a  different  man  of  me,"  the 
Tigrero  said,  as  he  rose. 

The  hunter  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "One  moment,"  he  said 
to  him;  "before  leaving  this  biv 
ouac,  where  we  met  so  providen 
tially,  let  us  clearly  agree  as  to  our 


86 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


facts,  so  as  to  avoid  any  future  mis 
understanding." 

"•  Be  it  so,"  Don  Martial  answered. 
"Let  us  make  a  compact  in  the  In 
dian  fashion,  and  woe  to  the  one 
who  breaks  it." 

"  Well  said,  my  friend,"  Valentine 
remarked,  as  he  drew  his  knife  from 
his  belt.  "Here  is  my  navaja, 
brother ;  may  it  serve  you  as  it  has 
done  me  to  avenge  your  wrongs  and 
mine." 

"I  receive  it  in  the  face  of  that 
Heaven  which  I  call  as  witness  of 
the  purity  of  my  intentions.  Take 
mine  in  exchange,  and  one-half  my 
powder  and  bullets,  brother." 

"I  accept  it  as  a  thing  belonging 
to  me,  and  here  is  half  my  ammuni 
tion  for  you  ;  henceforth  we  cannot 
fire  at  one  another,  all  is  in  common 
between  us.  Your  friends  will  be 
my  friends,  and  you  will  point  out 
your  enemies  to  me,  so  that  I  may 
aid  you  in  your  vengeance.  My 
horse  is  yours." 

"Mine  belongs  to  you,  and  in  a 
few  moments  I  will  place  it  at  your 
service." 

Then  the  two  men,  leaning  shoul 
der  to  shoulder,  with  clasped  hands, 
eyes  fixed  on  heaven,  and  out 
stretched  arm,  uttered  together  the 
following  words : 

"I  take  GOD  to  witness  that  of 
my  own  free  will,  and  without  res 
ervation,  I  take  as  my  friend  and 
brother  the  man  whose  hand  is  at 
this  moment  pressing  mine.  I  will 
help  him  in  every  thing  he  asks  of 
me,  without  hope  of  reward,  ready 
by  day  and  night  to  answer  his  first 
signal,  without  hesitation,  and  with 
out  reproach,  even  if  he  asked  me 
for  my  life.  I  take  this  oath  in  the 
presence  of  GOD,  who  sees  and  hears 
me,  and  may  He  come  to  my  help  in 
all  I  undertake,  and  punish  me  if  I 
ever  break  my  oath." 

There  was  something  grand  and 


solemn  in  this  simple  act,  performed 
by  these  two  powerful  men,  beneath 
the  pallid  moonbeams,  and  in  the 
heart  of  the  desert,  alone,  far  from 
all  human  society,  face  to  face  with 
GOD,  confiding  in  each,  and  seeming 
thus  to  defy  the  whole  world.  After 
repeating  the  words  of  the  oath,  they 
kissed  each  other's  lips  in  turn,  then 
embraced,  and  finally  shook  hands 
again. 

"Now  let  us  be  off,  brother," 
Yalentine  said ;  "  I  confide  in  you 
as  in  myself;  we  shall  succeed  in 
triumphing  over  our  enemies,  and 
repaying  them  all  the  misery  they 
have  caused  us." 

"Wait  for  me  ten  minutes, 
brother;  my  horse  is  hidden  close 

V 

"  Go ;  and  during  that  time  I  will 
saddle  mine,  which  is  henceforth 
yours." 

Don  Martial  hurried  away,  leaving 
Yalentine  alone. 

"  This  time,"  he  muttered,  "  I  be 
lieve  that  I  have  at  length  met  the 
man  I  have  been  looking  for  so  long, 
and  whom  I  despaired  to  find ;  with 
him,  Curumilla,  and  Belhurneur,  I 
can  begin  the  struggle,  for  I  am 
certain  I  shall  not  be  abandoned  or 
treacherously  surrendered  to  the 
enemy  I  wish  to  combat." 

While  indulging  after  his  wont  in 
this  soliloquy,  the  hunter  had  las 
soed  his  horse,  and  was  busily  en 
gaged  in  saddling  it.  He  had  just 
put  the  bit  in  its  mouth,  when  the 
Tigrero  re-entered  the  clearing, 
mounted  on  a  magnificent  black 
steed. 

Don  Martial  dismounted. 

"  This  is  your  horse,  my  friend," 
he  said. 

"And  this  is  yours." 

The  exchange  thus  effected,  the 
two  men  mounted,  and  left  the 
clearing  in  which  they  had  met  so 
strangely.  The  Tigrero  had  told  no 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


37 


falsehood  when  he  said  that  a  meta 
morphosis  had  taken  place  in  him, 
and  that  he  felt  a  different  man.  His 
features  had  lost  their  marble-like 
rigidity;  his  eyes  were  animated, 
and  no  longer  burned  with  a  sombre 
and  concentrated  fire.  Even  though 
his  glances  were  still  somewhat  hag 
gard,  their  expression  was  more 
frank  arid,  before  all,  kinder;  he  sat 
firm  and  upright  in  the  saddle,  and, 
in  a  word,  seemed  ten  years 
younger. 

This  unexpected  change  had  not 
escaped  the  notice  of  the  all-observ 
ing  Frenchman,  and  he  congratu 
lated  himself  for  having  effected  this 
moral  cure,  and  saved  a  man  of  such 
promise  from  the  despair  which  he 
had  allowed  to  overpower  him. 

We  have  already  said  that  it  was  a 
magnificent  night.  For  men  like 
our  characters,  accustomed  to  cross 
the  desert  in  all  weathers,  the  ride 
in  the  darkness  was  a  relaxation 
rather  than  a  fatigue.  They  rode 
along  side  by  side,  talking  on  indif 
ferent  topics — hunting,  trapping,  ex 
peditions  against  the  Indians — sub 
jects  always  pleasing  to  wood- 
rangers,  while  rapidly  advancing 
towards  the  spot  they  wished  to 
reach. 

"By-the-by,"  Valentine  all  at 
once  said,"  "I  must  warn  you, 
brother,  that  if  you  are  not  mis 
taken,  and  we  are  really  following 
the  road  to  the  Fort  of  the  Chichi- 
meques,  we  shall  probably  meet 
several  persons  there;  they  are 
friends  of  mine,  with  whom  I  have 
an  appointment,  and  I  will  introduce 
them  to  you ;  for  reasons  you  will 
speedily  learn,  these  friends  followed 
a  different  road  from  mine,  and  must 
have  been  waiting  for  some  time  at 
the  place  of  meeting." 

"I  do  not  care  who  the  persons 
are  we  meet,  as  they  are  friends  of 
yours,"  the  Tigrero  answered ;  "  the 


main  point  is  that  we  make  no  mis 
take." 

"On  my  word,  I  confess  my  in 
competence,  so  far  as  that  is  con 
cerned  ;  this  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ventured  into  the  Eocky  Mountains, 
where  I  hope  never  to  come  again, 
and  so  I  deliver  myself  entirely  into 
your  hands." 

"1  will  do  my  best,  although  I 
do  not  promise  positively  to  lead 
you  to  the  place  you  want  to 
reach." 

"  Nonsense  !"  the  hunter  said  with 
a  smile ;  "  two  places  like  the  one  I 
have  described  to  you  can  hardly  be 
found  in  these  parts,  picturesque  and 
diversified  though  they  be,  and  it 
would  be  almost  impossible  to  lose 
our  way." 

"At  any  rate,"  the   Tigrero  an 
swered,  "  we  shall  soon  know  whai 
we  have  to  depend  on,  for  we  shall 
be  there  within  half  an  hour." 

The  sky  was  beginning  to  grow 
paler ;  the  horizon  was  belted  by 
wide,  pellucid  bands,  which  as 
sumed  in  turn  every  color  of  the 
rainbow.  In  the  flashing  uncertain 
light  of  dawn,  objects  were  invested 
with  a  more  fugitive  appearance,  al 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  they  be 
came  more  distinct. 

The  adventurers  had  passed  the 
cross-roads,  and  turned  into  a  nar 
row  track,  whose  capricious  windings 
ran  along  rocks,  which  were  almost 
suspended  over  frightful  abysses. 
The  riders  had  given  up  all  at 
tempts  to  guide  their  horses,  and 
trusted  to  their  instinct;  they  had 
laid  their  bridles  on  their  necks, 
leaving  them  at  liberty  to  go  where 
they  pleased — a  prudent  precaution, 
which  cannot  be  sufficiently  recom 
mended  to  travellers  under  similar 
circumstances. 

All  at  once  a  streak  of  light^  il 
lumined  the  landscape,  and  the  sun 
rose  radiant  and  splendid;  behind 


88 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


them  the  travellers  still  had  the 
shadows  of  night,  while  before  them 
the  snowy  peaks  of  the  mountains 
were  glistening  in  the  sun. 

"Well,"  the  hunter  exclaimed, 
"  we  can  now  see  clearly,  and  I  hope 
that  we  shall  soon  perceive  the  Fort 
of  the  Chichi  meques." 

"Look  ahead  of  you  over  the 
jagged  crest  of  that  hill,"  the  Ti- 
grero  answered,  stretching  out  his 
arm;  "that  is  the  terrace  to  which 
I  am  leading  you." 

The  hunter  stopped,  for  he  felt 
giddy,  and  almost  ready  to  fall  off 
his  horse.  About  two  miles  from 
him,  but  separated  from  the  spot 
where  he  .stood  by  an  impassable 
canon,  an  immense  esplanade 
stretched  out  into  space  in  the  shape 
of  a  voladero  •  that  is  to  say,  in  con 
sequence  of  one  of  those  earthquakes 
so  common  in  these  regions,  the 
base  of  the  mountain  had  been  un 
dermined,  while  the  crest  remained 
intact,  and  hung  for  a  considerable 
distance  above  a  valley,  apparent 
ly  about  to  fall  at  any  moment ;  the 
spectacle  was  at  once  imposing  and 
terrific. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me !"  the  hunter 
muttered,  "but  I  really  believe  I 
was  frightened  ;  I  felt  all  my  muscles 
tremble  involuntarily.  Oh !  I  will 
not  look  at  it  again  ;  let  us  get  along, 
my  friend." 

They  set  out  again,  still  following 
the  windings  of  the  track,  which 
gradually  grew  steeper;  and,  after 
a  very  zig-zag  course,  reached  the 
terrace  half  an  hour  later. 

"  This  is  certainly  the  place,"  the 

hunter  exclaimed,  as  he  pointed  to 

the  decaying  embers  of  a  watch-fire. 

"But   your  friends—?"  the   Ti- 

grero  asked. 

"Did  you  not  tell  me  there  was  a 
grotto  close  by  ?" 
"'  I  did." 
"  Well,  they  doubtless  concealed 


themselves  in  the  grotto  when  they 
heard  us  approaching." 

"  That  is  possible." 

"  It  is  true :  look." 

The  hunter  discharged  his  gun, 
and  at  the  -sound  three  men  ap 
peared,  though  it  was  impossible  to 
say  whence  they  carne.  They  were 
Belhumeur,  Black  Elk,  and  Eagle- 
head. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   TRAVELLEES. 

WE  must  now  leave  Valentine 
and  his  companions  on  the  esplanade 
of  the  Fort  of  the  Chichimeques, 
where  we  shall  join  them  again 
however,  in  order  to  attend  to  other 
persons  destined  to  play  an  import 
ant  part  in  the  narrative  we  have 
undertaken  to  tell  the  reader. 

About  five  or  six  leagues  at  the 
most  from  the  spot  where  Valentine 
and  the  Tigrero  met,  a  caravan, 
composed  of  some  ten  persons,  had 
halted  on  the  same  night,  and  al 
most  at  the  same  moment  as  the 
hunter,  in  a  narrow  valley  com 
pletely  sheltered  from  the  wind  by 
dense  clumps  of  trees. 

The  caravan  was  comfortably 
lodged  on  the  bank  of  a  running 
stream,  the  mules  had  been  un 
loaded,  a  tent  raised,  fires  lighted; 
and  when  the  animals  were  hob 
bled,  the  travellers  began  to  make 
preparations  for  their  supper. 

These  travellers,  or  at  any  rate 
one  of  them,  appeared  to  belong  to 
the  highest  class,  for  the  rest  were 
only  servants  or  Indian  peons. 
Still  the  dress  of  this  person  was 
most  simple,  but  his  stiff  manner, 
his  imposing  demeanor,  and  haughty 


THE     BED     TEACK. 


39 


air,  evidenced  the  man  long  accus 
tomed  to  give  his  orders  without  ad 
mitting  refusal  or  even  the  slightest 
hesitation. 

He  had  passed  his  fiftieth  year; 
he  was  tall,  well-built,  and  his 
movements  were  extremely  elegant. 
His  broad  forehead,  his  black  eyes 
large  and  flashing,  his  long  gray 
moustaches  and  his  short  hair  gave 
him  a  military  appearance,  which 
his  harsh,  quick  way  of  speaking 
did  not  contradict.  Although  he 
affected  a  certain  affability  of  man 
ner,  he  at  times  involuntarily  be 
trayed  himself,  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  the  modest  garb  of  a  Mexi 
can  Campesino  which  he  wore  was 
only  a  disguise.  Instead  of  with 
drawing  beneath  the  tent  prepared 
for  him,  this  person  had  sat  down 
before  the  fire  with  the  peons,  who 
eagerly  made  way  for  him  with  evi 
dent  respect. 

Among  the  peons  two  men  more 
especially  attracted  attention.  One 
was  a  red-skin,  the  other  a  half- 
breed,  with  a  crafty,  leering  manner, 
who,  for  some  reason  or  another, 
stood  on  more  familiar  terms  with 
his  master;  his  comrades  called 
him  No  Carnero,  and  at  times  gave 
hirn  the  title  of  Capataz. 

No  Carnero  was  the  wit  of  the 
caravan,  the  funny  fellow — ever 
ready  to  laugh  and  joke,  smoking 
an  eternal  cigar,  and  desperately 
strumming  an  insupportable  guitar. 
Perhaps,  though,  he  concealed  be 
neath  this  frivolous  appearance  a 
more  sunous  character  and  deeper 
t1.. rights  than  he  would  have  liked 
to  display. 

The  red-skin  formed  the  most 
complete  contrast  with  the  capataz ; 
he  was  a  tall,  thin,  dry  man,  with 
angular  features  and  gloomy  and 
sad  face,  illumined  by  two  black 
eyes  deeply  set  in  their  orbit,  but 
constantly  in  motion,  and  having 


an  undefinable  expression  ;  his  aqui 
line  nose,  his  wide  mouth  lined  with 
large  teeth  as  white  as  almonds, 
and  his  thin  pinched-up  lips,  com 
posed  a  far  from  pleasant  counte 
nance,  which  was  rendered  still  more 
lugubrious  by  the  ob.stinate  silence 
of  this  man,  who  only  spoke  when 
absolutely  compelled,  and  then  only 
in  monosyllables.  Like  all  the  In 
dians,  it  was  impossible  to  form  any 
opinion  as  to  his  age,  for  his  hair 
was  black  as  the  raven's  wing,  and 
his  parchment  skin  had  not  a  single 
wrinkle ;  at  any  rate  he  seemed 
gifted  with  no  ordinary  strength. 

He  had  engaged  at  Santa  Fe  to 
act  as  guide  to  the  caravan,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  his  obstinate 
silence,  there  was  every  reason  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  way  in  which 
he  performed  his  duty.  The  peons 
called  him  The  Indian,  or  some 
times  Jose — a  mocking  term  em 
ployed  in  Mexico  to  designate  the 
Indios  mansos ;  but  the  red-skin 
appeared  as  insensible  to  compli 
ments  as  to  jokes,  and  continued 
coldly  to  carry  out  the  task  he  had 
imposed  on  himself.  When  sup 
per  was  ended,  and  each  had  lit 
his  pipe  or  cigarette,  the  master 
turned  to  the  capataz. 

"  Carnero,"  he  said  to  him,  "  al 
though  in  such  frightful  weather, 
and  in  these  remote  regions,  we 
have  but  little  to  fear  from  horse 
thieves,  still  do  not  fail  to  place 
sentries,  for  we  cannot  be  too  provi 
dent." 

"I  have  warned  two  men,  mi 
amo"  the  capataz  replied;  "and, 
moreover,  I  intend  to  make  my 
rounds  to-night;  eh,  Jose,"  he 
added,  turning  to  the  Indian,  "  are 
you  certain  you  are  not  mistaken, 
and  that  you  really  lifted  a  trail !" 

The  red -skin  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  disdainfully,  and  continued  his 
quiet  smoke. 


40 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"Do  you  know  to  what  nation 
the  sign  you  discovered  belongs?" 
the  master  asked  him. 

The  Indian  gave  a  nod  of  assent. 

"  Is  it  a  formidable  nation  ?" 

"  Crow,"  the  red-skin  answered 
hoarsely. 

"Carai!"  the  master  exclaimed, 
"if  they  are  Crows,  we  shall  do 
well  to  be  on  our  guard,  for  they 
are  the  cleverest  plunderers  in  the 
Kooky  Mountains." 

"  Nonsense !"  Carnero  remarked 
with  a  grin  of  derision,  "do  not 
believe  what  that  man  tells  you  ; 
the  mezcal  has  got  into  his  head, 
and  he  is  trying  to  make  himself  of 
importance ;  Indians  tell  as  many 
lies  as  old  women." 

The  Indian's  eye  flashed;  without 
deigning  to  reply  he  drew  a  mocas 
sin  from  his  breast,  and  threw  it  so 
adroitly  at  the  capataz  as  to  strike 
him  across  the  face.  Furious  at 
the  insult  so  suddenly  offered  him  by 
a  man  whom  he  always  considered 
inoffensive,  the  half-breed  uttered 
a  yell  of  rage,  and  rushed  knife  in 
hand  on  the  Indian. 

But  the  latter  had  not  taken  his 
eye  off  him,  and  by  a  slight  move 
ment  he  avoided  the'desperate  attack 
of  the  capataz;  then  drawing  him 
self  up,  he  caught  him  round  the 
waist,  raised  htm  from  the  ground 
as  easy  as  he  would  have  done  a 
child,  and  hurled  him  into  the  fire, 
where  he  writhed  for  a  moment 
with  cries  of  pain  and  impotent 
passion.  When  he  at  length  got 
out  of  the  fire,  half  scorched,  he  did 
not  think  of  renewing  the  attack, 
but  sat  down  growling  and  directing 
savage  glances  at  his  adversary,  like 
a  turnspit  punished  by  a  mastiff. 
The  master  had  witnessed  this 
aggression  with  the  utmost  indiffer 
ence,  and  having  picked  up  the 
mocassin,  which  he  carefully  ex 
amined — 


"The  Indian  is  right,"  he  said, 
coldly,  "  this  mocassin  boars  the 
mark  of  the  Crow  nation.  My  poor 
Carnero,  you  must  put  up  with  it, 
for  though  the  punishment  you 
received  was  severe,  I  am  forced  to 
allow  that  it  was  deserved." 

The  red-skin  had  begun  smoking 
again  as  quietly  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred. 

"The  dog  will  pay  me  for  it 
with  his  traitor  face,"  the  capataz 
growled,  on  hearing  his  master's 
warning.  "I  am  no  man  if  I  do 
not  leave  his  body  as  food  for  the 
Crows  he  discovers  so  cleverly." 

"  My  poor  lad,"  his  master  con 
tinued,  with  a  jeer,  you  had  better 
forget  this  affair,  which  I  allow 
might  be  disagreeable  to  your  self- 
esteem  ;  for  I  fancy  you  would  not 
be  the  gainer  by  recommencing  the 
quarrel." 

The  capataz  did  not  answer ;  he 
looked  round  at  the  spectators  to 
select  one  on  whom  he  could  vent 
his  spite,  without  incurring  any  ex 
treme  risk ;  but  the  peons  were  on 
their  guard,  and  offered  him  no 
chance.  He  then,  with  an  air  of 
vexation,  made  a  signal  to  two  men 
to  follow  him,  and  left  the  circle 
grumbling. 

The  head  of  the  cavaran  remained 
for  a  few  minutes  plunged  in  serious 
thought ;  he  then  withdrew  be 
neath  his  tent,  the  curtain  of  which 
fell  behind  him  ;  and  the  peons  lay 
down  on  the  ground,  one  after  the 
other,  with  their  feet  to  the  fire,  and 
carefully  wrapped  up  in  their  sera- 
pes,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  Indian  then  took  the  pipe- 
stem  from  his  mouth,  looked  search- 
ingly  around  hirn,  shook  out  the 
ashes,  passed  the  pipe  through  his 
belt,  and,  rising  negligently,  went 
slowly  to  crouch  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  though  not  before  he  had  taken 
the  precaution  of  wrapping  himself 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


41 


in  his  buffalo  robe,  a  measure  which 
the  sharp  air  rendered,  if  not  indis 
pensable,  at  any  rate  necessary. 

Ere  long,  with  the  exception  of 
the  sentries  leaning  on  their  guns 
and  motionless  as  statues,  all  the 
travellers  were  plunged  in  deep 
sleep,  for  the  capataz  himself,  in 
spite  of  the  promise  he  had  made 
his  master,  had  laid  himself  across 
the  entrance  of  the  tent. 

An  hour  elapsed  ere  any  thing 
disturbed  the  silence  that  prevailed 
in  the  carnp.  All  at  once  a  singular 
thing  happened.  The  buffaU)  robe, 
under  which  the  Indian  was  shel 
tered,  gently  rose  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  movement,  and  the 
red-skin's  face  appeared,  darting 
glances  of  fire  into  the  gloom.  In  a 
moment  the  guide  raised  himself 
slowly  along  the  trunk  of  the  tree 
against  which  he  had  been  lying, 
embraced  it  with  his  feet  and  hands, 
and  with  undulating  movements  re 
sembling  those  of  reptiles,  he  left  the 
ground,  and  raised  himself  to  the 
first  branches,  among  which  he  dis 
appeared. 

This  ascent  was  executed  with 
such  well-calculated  slowness  that  it 
had  not  produced  the  slightest  sound. 
Moreover,  the  buffalo  robe  left  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree  so  well  retained 
its  primitive  folds,  that  it  was  impos 
sible  to  discover,  without  touching 
it,  that  the  man  it  had  sheltered  had 
left  it. 

When  the  guide  was  thoroughly 
concealed  among  the  leaves,  he  re 
mained  for  a  moment  motionless; 
though  not  in  order  to  regain  his 
breath  after  having  made  such  an 
expenditure  of  strength,  for  this  man 
was  made  of  iron,  and  fatigue  had 
no  power  over  him.  But  he  proba 
bly  wished  to  look  about  him,  for 
with  his  body  bent  forward,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  on  space,  he  inhaled  the 


breeze,  and  his  glances  seemed  try 
ing  to  pierce  the  gloom. 

Before  selecting-  as  his  resting- 
place  the  foot  of  the  tree  in  which  he 
was  now  concealed,  the  guide  had 
assured  himself  that  this  tree,  which 
was  very  high  and  leafy,  was  joined 
at  about  two-thirds  of  its  height  by 
other  trees,  which  gradually  rose 
along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and 
formed  a  wall  of  verdure. 

After  a  few  minutes'  hesitation, 
the  guide  drew  in  his  belt,  placed  his 
knife  between  his  teeth,  and  with  a 
certainty  and  lightness  of  movement 
which  would  have  done  honor  to  a 
monkey,  he  commenced  literally 
hopping  from  one  tree  to  another, 
hanging  by  his  arms,  and  clinging 
to  the  creepers,  waking  up,  as  he 
passed,  the  birds,  which  flew  away 
in  alarm. 

This  strange  journey  lasted  about 
three-quarters  of  an  hour.  At  length 
the  guide  stopped,  looked  attentively 
around  him,  and  gliding  down  the 
trunk  of  the  tree  on  which  he  was, 
reached  the  ground.  The  spot  where 
he  now  found  himself  was  a  rather 
spacious  clearing,  in  the  centre  of 
which  blazed  an  enormous  fire,  serv 
ing  to  warm  forty  or  fifty  red-skins, 
completely  armed  and  equipped  for 
war.  Still,  singular  to  say,  the  ma 
jority  of  these  Indians,  instead  of 
their  long  lances  and  the  bows  they 
usually  employ,  carried  muskets  of 
American  manufacture,  which  led  to 
the  supposition  that  they  were  picked 
warriors  and  great  braves  of  their 
nation;  and  this  too  was  further 
proved  by  the  numerous  wolf-tails 
fastened  to  their  heels,  a  honorable 
insignia  which  only  renowned  war 
riors  have  the  right  to  assume. 

This  detachment  of  red-skins  was 
certainly  on  the  war-trail,  or  at  any 
rate  on  a  serious  expedition,  for  they 
had  with  them  neither  dogs  nor 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


squaws.  In  spite  of  the  slight  care 
with  which  the  Indians  are  wont  to 
guard  themselves  at  night,  the  free 
and  deliberate  manner  in  which  the 
guide  entered  their  encampment 
proved  that  he  was  expected  by 
these  warriors,  who  evinced  no  sur 
prise  at  seeing  him,  but,  on  the  con 
trary,  invited  him  with  hospitable 
gestures  to  take  a  seat  at  their  fire. 
The  guide  sat  down  silently,  and  be 
gan  smoking  the  calumet  which  the 
chief  seated  by  his  side  immediately 
offered  him.  This  chief  was  still  a 
young  man,  his  marked  features  dis 
playing  the  utmost  craft  and  bold 
ness.  After  a  rather  lengthened  in 
terval,  doubtless  expressly  granted 
the  visitor  to  let  him  draw  breath 
and  warm  himself,  the  young  chief 
bowed  to  him  and  addressed  him 
deferentially. 

"  My  father  is  welcome  among  his 
sons ;  they  were  impatiently  await 
ing  his  arrival." 

The  guide  responded  to  this  com 
pliment  with  a  grimace,  in  all  prob 
ability  intended  to  pass  muster  for  a 
smile.  The  chief  continued: — 

"  Our  scouts  have  carefully  exam 
ined  the  encampment  of  the  Yoris, 
and  the  warriors  of  the  Jester  are 
ready  to  obey  the  instructions  given 
them  by  their  great  sachem,  Eagle- 
head.  Is  my  father,  Curumilla,  sat 
isfied  with  his  red  children  ?" 

Curumilla  (for  the  guide  was  no 
other  than  the  reader's  old  acquaint 
ance  the  Araucano  chief)  laid  his 
right  hand  on  his  chest,  arid  uttered 
with  a  guttural  accent  the  exclama 
tion,"  Ugh !"  which  was  with  him  a 
mark  of  the  greatest  joy. 

The  Jester  and  his  warriors  had 
been  too  long  acquainted  with  Cu 
rumilla  for  his  silence  to  seem 
strange  to  them;  hence  they  yielded 
without  repugnance  to  his  mania, 
and  carefully  giving  up  the  hope  of 
getting  a  syllable  out  of  his  closed 


lips,  began  with  him  a  conversation 
in  signs. 

We  have  already  had  occasion,  in 
a  previous  work,  to  mention  that  the 
red-skins  have  two  languages,  the 
written  and  the  sign  language.  The 
latter,  which  has  among  them  at 
tained  a  high  perfection,  and  which 
all  understand,  is  usually  employed 
when  hunting,  or  on  expeditions, 
when  a  word  pronounced  even  in  a 
low  voice  may  reveal  the  presence 
of  an  ambuscade  to  the  enerjny, 
whether  men  or  beasts,  whom  they 
are  pursuing,  and  desire  to  surprise. 

It  would  have  been  interesting, 
and  even  amusing,  for  any  stranger 
who  had  been  present  at  this  inter 
view  to  see  with  what  rapidity  the 
gestures  and  signs  were  exchanged 
between  these  men,  so  strangely  lit 
up  by  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  fire, 
and  who  resembled,  with  their 
strange  movements,  their  stern  faces, 
and  singular  attitudes,  a  council  of 
demons.  At  times  the  Jester,  with 
his  body  bent  forward,  and  emphatic 
gestures,  held  a  dumb  speech,  which 
his  comrades  followed  with  the  most 
sustained  attention,  and  which  they 
answered  with  a  rapidity  that  words 
themselves  could  not  have  surpassed. 

At  length  this  silent  council  ter 
minated.  Curumilla  raised  his  hand 
to  heaven,  and  pointed  to  the  stars, 
which  were  beginning  to  grow  dim, 
and  then  left  the  circle.  The  red 
skins  respectfully  followed  him  to 
the  foot  of  the  tree  by  the  aid  of 
which  he  had  entered  their  camp. 
When  he  reached  it,  he  turned 
round. 

"  May  the  Wacondah  protect  my 
father!"  the  Jester  then  said.  ''His 
sons  have  thoroughly  understood 
his  instructions,  and  will  follow  them 
literally.  The  great  pale '  hunter 
will  have  joined  his  friends  by  this 
hour,  and  he  is  doubtless  awaiting 
us.  To-morrow  Koutonepi  will  see 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


43 


his  Comanche  brothers.  At  the  en- 
ditha  the  camp  will  be  raised.'" 

"It  is  good,"  Curumilla  answered, 
and  saluting  for  the  last  time  the 
warriors,  who  bowed  respectfully 
before  him,  the  chief  seized  the 
creeping  plants,  and,  raising  himself 
by  the  strength  of  his  wrists,  in  a 
second  he  reached  the  branches,  and 
disappeared  in  the  foliage. 

The  journey  the  Indian  had  made 
was  very  important,  and  needed  to 
be  so  for  him  to  run  such  great  risks 
in  order  to  have  an  interview  at  this 
hour  of  the  night  with  the  red-skins; 
but  as  the  reader  will  soon  learn 
what  were  the  consequences  of  this 
expedition,  we  deem  it  unnecessary 
to  translate  the  sign-language  em 
ployed  during  the  council,  or  ex 
plain  the  resolutions  formed  between 
Gurumilla  and  the  Jester. 

The  chief  recommenced  his  aerial 
trip  with  the  same  lightness  and  the 
same  good  fortune.  After  a  lapse 
of  time  comparatively  much  shorter 
than  that  which  he  had  previously 
employed,  he  reached  the  camp  of 
the  white  men.  The  same  silence 
prevailed  in  its  interior ;  the  senti 
nels  were  still  motionless  at  their 
post,  and  the  watch-fires  were  begin 
ning  to  expire. 

The  chief  assured  himself  that  no 
eye  was  fixed  on  him — that  no  spy 
was  on  the  watch  ;  and,  feeling  cer 
tain  of  not  being  perceived,  he  slid 
silently  down  the  tree  and  resumed 
the  place  beneath  the  buffalo-robe 
which  he  was  supposed  not  to  have 
left  during  the  night. 

At  the  moment  when-,  after  taking 
a  final  glance  around,  the  Indian 
chief  disappeared  beneath  his  robe, 
the  capataz,  who  was  lying  athwart 
the  entrance  of  the  hut,  gently  raised 
his  head,  and  looked  with  strange 
fixity  of  glance  at  the  place  occupied 
by  the  red-skin. 

Had  a  suspicion  been  aroused  in 


the  Mexican's  mind  ?  Had  he  no 
ticed  the  departure  and  return  of  the 
chief?  Presently  he  let  his  head 
fall  again,  and  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  read  on  his  motionless 
features  what  were  the  thoughts  that 
troubled  him. 

The  remainder  of  the  night  passed 
tranquilly  and  peacefully. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE   FOKT    OF   THE    CHICHIMEQUES. 

THE  sun  rose ;  its  beams  played 
on  the  trembling  yellow  leaves  of 
the  trees,  and  tinged  them  with  a 
thousand  shades  of  gold  and  purple. 
The  birds,  cozily  nestled  in  the 
bushes,  struck  up  their  matin  carol; 
the  awakening  of  nature  was  as 
splendid  and  imposing  as  it  is  in  all 
mountainous  countries. 

The  leader  of  the  caravan  left  his 
tent  and  gave  orders  to  strike  the 
camp.  The  tent  was  at  once  folded 
up ;  the  mules  were  loaded,  and,  so 
soon  as  the  horses  were  saddled,  the 
party  started  without  waiting  for 
the  morning  meal,  for  they  generally 
breakfasted  a.t  the  eleven  o'clock 
halt,  while  resting  to  let  the  great 
heat  of  the  day  subside. 

The  caravan  advanced  along  the 
road  from  Santa  Fe  to  the  United 
States,  at  a  speed  unusual  under 
such  circumstances.  A  military 
system  was  affected,  which  was  im 
posing,  and,  indeed,  indispensable 
in  these  regions,  infested  not  merely 
by  numerous  bands  of  predatory 
Indians,  but  also  traversed  by  the 
pirates  of  the  prairie,  more  danger 
ous  bandits  still,  who  were  driven 
by  their  enemies  beyond  the  pale  of 
the  law,  and  who,  ambushed  at  the 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


turnings  of  roads  or  in  broken 
rocks,  attacked  the  caravans  as  they 
passed,  and  pitilessly  massacred  the 
travellers,  after  plundering  them  of 
all  they  possessed. 

About  twenty  yards  ahead  of  the 
caravan  rode  four  men,  with  their 
rifles  on  their  thighs,  preceded  by 
the  guide,  who  formed  the  extreme 
vanguard.  Next  came  the  main 
body,  composed  of  six  well-armed 
peons,  watching  the  mules  and  bag 
gage,  under  the  immediate  orders  of 
the  chief  of  the  caravan.  Lastly, 
the  capataz  rode  about  thirty  paces 
in  the  rear,  having  under  his  orders 
four  resolute  men  armed  to  the  teeth. 

Thus  arranged  to  face  any  event, 
the  caravan  enjoyed  a  relative  secu- 
rity,  for  it  was  not  very  probable 
that  the  white  or  red  pillagers,  who 
were  doubtless  watching  it,  would 
dare  to  attack  in  open  day  seventeen 
resolute  and  trained  men.  At  night 
the  horse-thieves,  who  glide  silently 
in  the  darkness  during  the  sleep  of 
the  travellers,  and  carry  off  horses 
and  baggage,  were  more  formidable. 

Still,  either  through  accident,  or 
the  prudential  measures  employed 
by  the  chief  of  the  caravan,  since 
they  had  left  Santa  Fe,  that  is  to  say 
for  more  than  a  month,  the  Mexicans 
had  not  seen  an  Indian,  or  been 
alarmed.  They  had  journeyed — 
apparently,  at  least — with  as  much 
tranquillity  as  if,  instead  of  being 
in  the  heart  of  the  Eocky  Moun 
tains,  they  were  moving  along  the 
roads  in  the  interior  of  Sonora. 
This  security,  however,  while  aug 
menting  their  confidence,  had  not 
caused  their  prudential  measures  to 
be  neglected ;  and  their  chief,  whom 
this  unusual  leniency  on  the  part  of 
the  villains  who  prowl  about  these 
countries  alarmed,  redoubled  his 
vigilance  and  precautions  to  avoid 
a  surprise  and  a  collision  with  the 
plunderers. 


The  discovery,  made  on  the  pre 
vious  day  by  the  guide,  of  an  Indian 
Crow  trail — the  most  determined 
thieves  in  these  mountains — added 
to  his  apprehensions;  for  he  did  not 
hide  from  himself  that,  if  he  were 
compelled  to  fight,  in  spite  of  the 
courage  and  discipline  of  his  peons, 
the  odds  would  be  against  him,  when 
•fighting  men  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  country,  and  who  would 
only  attack  him  with  numbers  suffi 
cient  to  crush  his  band,  however 
desperate  the  resistance  offered 
might  be. 

When  he  left  the  camp,  the  chief 
of  the  caravan,  suffering  perhaps 
from  a  gloomy  foreboding,  spurred 
his  horse  and  joined  the  Indian, 
who,  as  we  said,  was  marching  alone 
in  front,  examining  the  bushes,  and 
apparently  performing  all  the  duties 
of  an  experienced  guide.  Curumilla, 
though  he  heard  the  hurried  paces 
of  the  Mexican's  horse,  did  not  turn 
round,  but  continued  trotting  along 
carelessly  on  the  sorry  mule  allotted 
to  him  for  this  expedition. 

When  the  chief  of  the  caravan 
joined  him  and  brought  his  horse 
alongside  the  Indian,  instead  of 
speaking  to  him,  he  attentively 
examined  him  for  some  minutes, 
trying  to  pierce  the  mask  of  stoicism 
spread  over  the  guide's  features,  and 
to  read  his  thoughts.  But,  after  a 
rather  lengthened  period,  the  Mexi 
can  was  constrained  to  recognize  the 
inutility  of  his  efforts,  and  to  confess 
to  himself  the  impossibility  of  guess 
ing  the  intentions  of  this  man,  for 
whom,  in  spite  of  the  service  he  had 
rendered  the  caravan,  he  felt  an  in 
stinctive  aversion,  and  whom  he 
would  like  to  force,  at  all  risks,  to 
make  a  frank  explanation. 

"  Indian,"  he  said  to  him  in  Span 
ish,  "  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  for 
a  few  moments  on  an  important 
subject ;  so  be  good  enough  to  put 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


45 


off  your  usual  silence  for  a  while  and 
answer,  like  an  honest  man,  tKe 
questions  I  propose  asking  you." 

Curumilla  bowed  respectfully. 

"  You  engaged  with  me,  at  Santa 
Y6,  to  lead  me,  for  the  sum  of  four 
ounces,  of  which  you  received  one- 
half  in  advance — to  lead  me,  I  say, 
safely  to  the  frontiers  of  Upper 
Mexico.  Since  you  have  been  id 
my  service  I  must  allow  that  I  have 
only  had  reason  to  praise  the  pru 
dence  in  which  you  have  performed 
your  duties ;  but  we  are  at  this  mo 
ment  in  the  heart  of  the  Eocky 
Mountains :  that  is  to  say,  we  have 
reached  the  most  dangerous  part  of 
our  long  journey.  Two  days  ago 
you  lifted  the  trail  of  Crow  Indians, 
very  formidable  enemies  of  cara 
vans,  and  I  want  to  consult  with 
you  as  to  the  means  to  employ  to 
foil  the  snares  in  which  these  In 
dians  will  try  to  catch  us,  and  to 
know  what  measures  you  intend  to 
employ  to  avoid  a  meeting  with 
them;  in  a  word,  I  want  to  know 
your  plan  of  action." 

The  Indian,  without  replying,  felt 
in  a  bag  of  striped  calico  thrown 
over  his  shoulder,  and>  produced  a 
greasy  paper,  folded  in  four,  which 
he  opened  and  offered  the  Mexican. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  the  latter  asked, 
as  he  looked  and  ran  through  it. 
"Oh,  yes,  certainly;  your  engage 
ment.  Well,  what  connection  has 
this  with  the  question  I  asked  you?" 
^  Curumilla,  still  impassive,  laid 
his  finger  on  the  paper,  at  the  last 
paragraph  of  the  engagement. 

"  Well,  what  then  ?"  the  Mexican 
exclaimed,  ill-humoredly.  "It  is 
said  there,  it  is  true,  that  I  must 
trust  entirely  to  you,  and  leave  you 
at  liberty  to  act  as  you  please  for 
the  common  welfare,  without  ques 
tioning  you." 

The  Indian  nodded  his  head  in 
assent. 
3 


"Well,  voto  d  Sriosf"  the  Mexi 
can  shouted,  irritated  by  this  studied 
coolness,  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to 
curb  his  temper,  and  annoyed  at  the 
man's  obstinate  refusal  to  answer, 
"what  proves  to  me  that  you  are 
acting  for  our  common  welfare,  and 
that  you  are  not  a  traitor?" 

At  this  word  traitor,  so  distinctly 
uttered  by  the  Mexican,  Curumilla 
gave  a  tiger  glance  at  the  speaker, 
while  his  whole  body  was  agitated 
by  a  convulsive  tremor :  he  uttered 
two  or  three  incomprehensible  gut 
tural  exclamations,  and  ere  the 
Mexican  could  suspect  his  inten 
tions,  he  was  seized  round  the  waist, 
lifted  from  the  saddle,  and  hurled 
on  the  ground,  where  he  lay  stunned. 

Curumilla  leaped  from  his  mule,* 
drew  from  his  belt  two  gold  ounces, 
hurled  them  at  the  Mexican,  and 
then,  bounding  over  the  precipice 
that  bordered  the  road,  glided  to  the 
bottom  with  headlong  speed  and 
disappeared  at  once. 

What  we  have  described  occurred 
so  rapidly  that  the  peons  who  re 
mained  behind,  although  they  hur 
ried  up  at  full  speed  to  their  mas 
ter's  assistance,  arrived  too  late  on 
the  scene  to  prevent  the  Indian's 
flight. 

The  Mexican  had  received  no 
wound;  the  surprise  and  violence 
of  the  fall  had  alone  caused  his  mo 
mentary  stupor;  but  almost  imme 
diately  he  regained  his  senses,  and 
comprehending  the  inutility  and 
folly  of  pursuit  at  such  a  spot  with 
such  an  adversary,  he  devoured  his 
shame  and  passion,  and,  remounting 
his  horse,  which  had  been  stopped, 
he  coolly  gave  orders  to  continue 
the  journey,  with  an  internal  reso 
lution  that,  if  ever  the  opportunity 
offered,  he  would  have  an  exemplary 
revenge  for  the  insult  he  had  re 
ceived. 

For  the  moment  he  could  not 


46 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


think  of  it,  for  more  serious  interests 
demanded  all  his  attention;  it  was 
evident  to  him  that,  in  branding  the 
guide  as  a  traitor,  he  had  struck 
home,  and  that  the  latter,  furious  at 
seeing  himself  unmasked,  had  pro 
ceeded  to  such  extremities  in  order 
to  escape  punishment,  and  find 
means  to  fly  safely. 

The  situation  was  becoming  most 
critical  for  the  chief  of  the  caravan  ; 
he  found  himself  abandoned  and  left 
without  a  guide,  in  unknown  re 
gions,  doubtless  watched  by  hidden 
foes,  and  exposed  at  any  moment  to 
an  attack,  whose  result  could  but  be 
unfavorable  to  himself  and  his  peo 
ple  ;  hence  he  must  form  a  vigorous 
resolve  in  order  to  escape,  were  it 
possible,  the  misfortunes  that  men 
aced  the  caravan. 

The  Mexican  was  a  man  endowed 
with  an  energetic  organization, 
brave  to  rashness,  whom  no  peril, 
however  great  it  might  be,  had  ever 
yet  had  the  power  to  make  him 
blench ;  in  a  few  seconds  he  calcu 
lated  all  the  favorable  chances  left 
him,  and  his  determination  was 
formed.  The  road  he  was  following 
at  this  moment  was  assuredly  the 
one  frequented  by  the  caravans  pro 
ceeding  from  the  United  States  to 
California  or  Mexico;  and  there 
\vas  no  other  road  but  this  in  the 
mountains.  Hence  the  Mexican  re 
solved  to  form  an  entrenched  camp, 
at  the  spot  that  might  appear  to 
him  most  favorable,  fortify  himself 
there  as  well  as  he  could,  and  await 
the  passing  of  the  first  caravan, 
which  he  would  join. 

This  plan  was  exceedingly  sim 
ple,  and  in  addition  very  easy  to 
execute.  As  the  travellers  pos 
sessed  an  ample  stock  of  provisions 
and  ammunition,  they  had  no  reason 
to  fear  scarcity,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  seven  or  eight  days  in  all  prob 
ability  would  not  elapse  without 


the  appearance  of  a  fresh  caravan ; 
and  the  Mexican  believed  himself 
capable  of  resisting,  behind  good 
entrenchments,  with  his  fifteen 
peons,  any  white  or  red  plunderers 
who  dared  to  attack  him. 

So  soon  as  this  resolution  was 
formed,  the  Mexican  at  once  pre 
pared  to  carry  it  out.  After  having 
briefly  and  in  a  few  words  explained 
to  his  disheartened  peons  what  his 
intentions  were,  and  recommending 
them  to  redouble  their  prudence,  he 
left  them,  and  pushed  on  in  order  to 
reconnoitre  the  ground  and  select 
the  most  suitable  spot  for  the  estab 
lishment  of  the  camp. 

He  started  his  horse  at  a  gallop 
and  soon  disappeared  in  the  wind 
ings  of  the  road,  but,  through  fear 
of  a  sudden  attack,  he  held  his  gun 
in  his  hand,  and  his  glances  were 
constantly  directed  around  him,  ex 
amining  with  the  utmost  care  the 
thick  chapparal  which  bordered  the 
road  on  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

The  Mexican  went  on  thus  for 
about  two  hours,  noticing  that  the 
further  he  proceeded  the  narrower 
and  more  abrupt  the  track  became. 
Suddenly  it  widened  out  in  front  of 
him,  and  he* arrived  at  an  esplanade, 
across  which  the  road  ran,  and 
which  was  no  other  than  the  Fort 
of  the  Chichimeques,  previously 
described  by  us. 

The  Mexican's  practised  eye  at 
once  seized  the  advantages  of  such 
a  position,  and,  without  loss  of  time 
in  examining  it  in  detail,  he  turned 
back  to  rejoin  the  caravan.  The 
travellers,  though  marching  much 
more  slowly  than  their  chief,  had, 
however,  pushed  on,  so  that  he  re 
joined  them  about  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  after  the  discovery  of  the 
terrace. 

The  flight  of  the  guide  had  nearly 
demoralized  the  Mexicans,  more  ac 
customed  to  the  ease  of  tropical  re- 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


gions,  and  whose  courage  the  snows 
of  the  Eocky  Mountains  had  already 
weakened,  if  not  destroyed.  Fortu 
nately  for  the  chief's  plans  he  had 
over  his  servants  that  influence 
which  clever  minds  know  how  to 
impose  on  ordinary  natures,  and  the 
peons,  on  seeing  their  master  gay 
and  careless  about  the  future,  began 
to  hope  that  they  would  escape  bet 
ter  than  they  had  supposed  from  the 
unlucky  position  in  which  they  found, 
themselves  so  suddenly  placed.  The 
march  was  continued  tranquilly ; 
no  suspicious  sign  was  discovered, 
and  the  Mexicans  were  justified  in 
believing  that,  with  the  exception 
of  the  time  they  would  be  com 
pelled  to  lose  in  awaiting  a  new 
guide,  the  flight  of  the  Indian  would 
entail  no  disagreeable  consequences 
on  them. 

Singularly  enough,  Carnero  the 
capataz  seemed  rather  pleased  than 
annoyed  at  the  sudden  disappear 
ance  of  the  guide.  Far  from  com 
plaining  or  deploring  the  delay  in 
ihe  continuance  of  the  journey  he 
laughed  at  what  had  happened,  and 
made  an  infinitude  of  more  or  less 
witty  jests  about  it,  which  in  the 
end  considerably  annoyed  his  mas 
ter,  whose  joy  was  merely  on  the 
surface,  and  who,  in  his  heart, 
cursed  the  mishap  which  kept  them 
in  the  mountains,  and  exposed  him 
to  the  insults  of  the  plunderers. 

"Pray,  what  do  you  find  so  agree 
able  in  what  has  happened  that  you 
are  or  affect  to  be  so  merry,  No 
Carnero  ?"  he  at  length  asked  with 
considerable  ill- temper. 

"  Forgive  me,  mi  amo,"  the  capa 
taz  answered  humbly  ;  "  but  you 
know  the  proverb,  '  What  can't  be 
cured  must  be  endured,'  and  conse 
quently  I  forgot." 

"Hum  !"  said  the  master,  without 
any  other  reply. 

"And  besides,"  the  capataz  added, 


as  he  stooped  down  to  the  chief,  and 
almost  whispering,  "however  bad 
our  position  may  be,  is  it  not  better 
to  pretend  to  consider  it  good?" 

His  master  gave  him  a  -piercing 
look,  but  the  other  continued  im- 
perturbably  with  an  obsequious 
smile — 

"  The  duty  of  a  devoted  servant, 
mi  amo,  is  to  be  always  of  his  mas 
ter's  opinion,  whatever  may  happen. 
The  peons  were  murmuring  this 
morning  after  your  departure,  and 
you  know  what  the  character  of 
these  brutes  is ;  if  they  feel  alarmed 
we  shall  be  lost,  for  it  will  be  im 
possible  for  us  to  get  out  of  our 
position;  hence  I  thought  that  I 
was  carrying  out  your  views  by  at 
tempting  to  cheer  them  up,  and  I 
feign  a  gayety  which,  be  assured,  I 
do  not  feel,  under  the  supposition 
that  it  would  be  agreeable  to  you." 

The  Mexican  shook  his  head  du 
biously,  but  the  observations  of  the 
capataz  were  so  just,  the  reasons  he 
offered  appeared  so  plausible,  that 
he  was  constrained  to  yield  and 
thank  him,  as  he  did  not  care  to 
alienate  at  this  moment  a  man  who 
by  a  word  could  change  the  temper 
of  his  peons,  and  urge  them  to  re 
volt  instead  of  adhering  to  their 
duty. 

"  I  thank  you,  No  Carnero,"  he 
said,  with  a  conciliatory  air.  "  You 
perfectly  understood  my  intentions. 
I  am  pleased  with  your  devotion  to 
my  person,  and  the  moment  will 
soon  arrive,  I  hope,  when  it  will  be 
in  my  power  to  prove  to  you  the 
value  I  attach  to  you." 

"The  certainty  of  having  done 
my  duty,  now  as  ever,  is  the  sole 
reward  I  desire,  mi  amo,"  the  capa 
taz  answered,  with  a  respectful  bow. 

The  Mexican  gave  him  a  side 
glance,  but  he  restrained  himself, 
and  it  was  with  a  smile  that  he 
thanked  the  capataz  for  the  second 


48 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


time.  The  latter  thought  it  prudent 
to  break  off  the  interview  here,  and, 
stopping  his  horse,  he  allowed  his 
master  to  pass  him.  The  chief  of 
the  caravan  was  one  of  those  un 
happily  constituted  men  who  after 
having  passed  their  life  in  deceiving 
or  trying  to  deceive  those  with  whom 
the  accidents  of  an  adventurous  ex 
istence  have  brought  them  into  con 
tact,  had  reached  that  point  when  he 
had  no  confidence  in  any  one,  and 
sought,  behind  the  most  frivolous 
words,  to  discover  an  interested  mo 
tive,  which  most  frequently  did  not 
exist.  Although  his  capataz  Car- 
nero  had  been  for  a  long  time  in  his 
service,  and  he  granted  him  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  familiarity  —  al 
though  he  appeared  to  place  great 
confidence  in  him,  and  count  on 
his  devotion,  still  in  his  heart,  he 
not  only  suspected  him,  but  felt 
almost  confident,  without  any  posi 
tive  proof,  it  is  true,  that  he  was 
playing  a  double  game  with  him, 
and  was  a  secret  agent  of  his  de 
ceivers. 

What  truth  there  might  be  in 
this  supposition,  which  held  a  firm 
hold  of  the  Mexican's  mind,  we  are 
unable,  to  say  at  present;  but  the 
slightest  actions  of  his  capataz  were 
watched  by  him,  and  he  felt  certain 
that  he  should,  sooner  or  later, 
attain  a  confirmation  of  his  doubts ; 
hence,  while  feigning  the  greatest 
satisfaction  with  him,  he  constantly 
kept  on  his  guard,  ready  to  deal  a 
blow,  which  would  be  the  sharper 
because  it  had  been  so  long  pre 
pared. 

A  little  before  eleven  A.M.  the 
caravan  reached  the  terrace,  and  it 
was  with  a  feeling  of  joy,  which 
they  did  not  attempt  to  conceal,  that 
the  peons  recognized  the  strength 
of  the  position  selected  by  their 
master  for  the  encampment. 

"  We   shall    stop    here    for   the 


present,"  the  Mexican  said.  "Un 
load  the  mules,  and  light  the  fires. 
Immediately  after  breakfast  we  will 
begin  intrenching  ourselves  in  such 
a  way  as  to  foil  all  the  assaults  of 
marauders." 

The  peons  obeyed  with  the  speed 
of  men  who  have  made  a  long 
journey  and  are  beginning  to  feel 
hungry  ;  the  fires  were  lighted  in 
an  instant,  and  a  few  moments  later 
the  peons  vigorously  attacked  their 
maize  tortillas,  their  tocina,  and 
their  cecina — those  indispensable 
elements  of  every  Mexican  meal. 
When  the  hunger  of  his  men  was 
appeased,  and  they  had  smoked 
their  cigarettes,  the  chief  rose. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  to  work." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SUEPBISE. 

THE  position  which  the  leader  of 
the  caravan  fancied  he  had  been  the 
first  to  discover,  and  where  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  halt,  was  ad 
mirably  selected  to  establish  an 
intrenched  camp — strong  enough  to 
resist  for  months  the  attacks  of  the 
Indians  and  the  pirates  of  the 
prairies.  The  immense  voladero 
hovering  at  a  prodigious  height 
above  the  precipices,  and  guarded 
on  the  right  and  left  by  enormous 
masses  of  rock,  offered  such  condi 
tions  of  security  that  the  peons  re 
gained  all  their  merry  carelessness, 
and  only  regarded  the  mysterious 
flight  of  the  guide  as  an  accident  of 
no  real  importance,  and  which 
would  have  no  other  consequences 
for  them  but  to  make  their  journey 
somewhat  longer  than  the  time  origi 
nally  arranged. 


\ 


THE    BED    TBACK. 


49 


It  was,  hence,  with  well  promis 
ing  ardor  that  they  rose  ou  receiving 
their  chiefs  command,  and  prepared 
under  his  directions  to  dig  the  trench 
which  was  intended  to  protect  them 
from  a  surprise.  This  trench  was 
to  be  bordered  by  a  line  of  tall 
stakes,  running  across  the  open 
space  between  the  rocks,  which 
gave  the  sole  access  to  the  terrace. 

The  head-quarters  were  first  pre 
pared,  that  is  to  say,  the  tent  was 
raised,  and  the  horses  hobbled  near 
picquets  driven  into  the  ground. 

At  the  moment  when  the  leader 
proceeded  with  several  peons  armed 
with  picks  and  spades  toward  the 
entrance,  with  the  probable  inten 
tion  of  marking  the  exact  spot 
where  the  trench  was  to  be  dug,  the 
capataz  approached  him  obsequi 
ously,  and  said  with  a  respectful 
bow — 

"Mi  amo,  I  have  an  important 
communication  to  make  to  you." 

His  master  turned  and  looked  at 
him  with  ill-concealed  distrust. 

"  An  important  communication 
to  make  to  me  ?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  mi  amo,"  the  capataz  re 
plied  with  a  bow. 

"What  is  it?  Speak,  but  be 
brief,  Carnero,  for,  as  you  see,  I 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

"I  hope  to  gain  your  time,  ex 
cellency,"  the  capataz  said  with  a 
silent  smile. 

"  Ah,  ah,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  say  two 
words  aside,  excellency,  you  will 
know  at  once." 

"Diablo!  a  mystery,  Master  Car 
nero  ?" 

"Mi  amo,  it  is  my  duty  to  inform 
no  one  but  your  excellency  of  my 
discovery." 

"Hum!  then  you  have  discovered 
something?'' 

The  other  bowed,  but  made  no 
further  answer. 


"  Very  well  then,"  his  master  con 
tinued,  "come  this  way:  go  on, 
muchachos,"  he  added,  addressing 
the  peons,  "I  will  rejoin  you  in  a 
moment." 

The  latter  went  on,  while  the 
leader  retired  for  a  few  paces,  fol 
lowed  by  the  capntaz.  When  he 
considered  that  he  had  placed  a  suf 
ficient  distance  between  himself  and 
the  ears  of  his  people,  he  addressed 
the  half-breed  again — 

"Now,  I  suppose,  Master  Carne 
ro,"  he  said,  "you  will  see  no  incon 
venience  in  explaining  yourself?" 

"  None  at  all,  excellency." 

"  Speak  then,  in  the  fiend's  name, 
and  keep  me  no  longer  in  sus 
pense." 

"  This  is  the  affair,  excellency :  I 
have  discovered  a  grotto." 

"What?"  his  master  exclaimed, 
in  surprise,  "you  have  discovered  a 
grotto  ?" 

"  Yes,  excellency." 

"Where?" 

"  Here." 

"  Here !  that!s  impossible." 

"  It's  the  fact,  excellency." 

"But  where?" 

"There,"  he  said,  stretching  out 
his  arm,  "behind  that  mass  of 
rocks." 

A  suspicious  look  flashed  from 
beneath  his  master's  eyelashes. 

"Ah  I"  he  muttered,  "  that  is  very 
singular,  Master  Carnero ;  may  I  ask 
in  what  manner  you  discovered  this 
grotto,  and  what  motive  was  so  im 
perious  as  to  take  you  among  those 
rocks,  when  you  were  aware  how  in 
dispensable  your  presence  was  else 
where?' 

The  capataz  was  not  affected  by 
the  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
uttered ;  he  answered  calmly,  as  if 
he  did  not  perceive  the  menace  they 
contained — 

"  Oh !  mi  amo,  the  discovery  was 
quite  accidental,  I  assure  you." 


50 


HE    BED    TRA  C  K. 


"  I  do  not  believe  in  chance,"  his 
master  answered ;  "  but  go  on." 

"When  we  had  finished  break 
fast,"  the  capataz  continued,  sooth 
ingly,  "I  perceived,  on  rising,  that 
several  horses,  mine  among  them, 
had  become  unfastened,  and  were 
straying  in  different  directions." 

"That  is  true,"  his  master  muttered, 
apparently  answering  his  own 
thoughts  rather  than  the  remarks 
of  the  capataz. 

The  latter  gave  an  almost  imper 
ceptible  smile.  "Fearing,"  he  con 
tinued,  "lest  the  horses  might  be 
lost,  I  immediately  started  in  pur 
suit.  They  were  easy  to  catch,  with 
the  exception  of  one,  which  rambled 
among  the  rocks,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  follow  it." 

"  I  understand ;  and  so  it  led  you 
to  the  mouth  of  the  grotto." 

"Exactly,  mi  amo;  I  found  it 
standing  at  the  very  entrance,  and 
had  no  difficulty  in  seizing  the  bri 
dle." 

"That  is  indeed  most  singular. 
And  did  you  enter  the  grotto,  Mas 
ter  Carnero  ?" 

"No,  mi  amo.  I  thought  it  my 
duty  to  tell  you  of  it  first." 

"  You  were  right.  Well,  we  will 
enter  it  together.  Fetch  us  some 
torches  of  ocote  wood,  and  show  us 
the  way.  By  the  by,  do  not  forget 
to  bring  weapons,  for  we  know  not 
what  men  or  beasts  we  may  find  in 
caverns  thus  opening  on  a  high 
road."  This  he  said  with  a  sarcas 
tic  air,  which  caused  the  capataz  to 
tremble  inwardly  in  spite  of  his  de 
termined  indifference. 

While  he  executed  his  master's 
orders,  the  latter  selected  six  of  his 
peons,  on  whose  courage  he  thought 
he  could  most  rely,  ordered  them  to 
take  their  muskets,  and  bidding  the 
others  to  keep  a  good  watch,  but  not 
begin  any  thing  till  he  returned,  he 
made  a  signal  to  the  capataz  that  he 


was  ready  to  follow  him.  No  Car 
nero  had  followed  with  an  evil  eye 
the  arrangements  made  by  his  mas 
ter,  but  probably  did  not  deem  it 
prudent  to  risk  any  remark,  for  he 
silently  bowed  his  head,  and  walked 
towards  the  pile  of  rocks  that  masked 
the  entrance  of  the  grotto. 

These  granite  blocks,  piled  one  on 
top  of  the  other,  did  not  appear, 
however,  to  have  been  brought  there 
by  accident,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
they  appeared  to  have  belonged  in 
some  early  and  remote  age  to  a 
clumsy  but  substantial  edifice,  which 
was  probably  connected  with  the 
breastwork  still  visible  on  the  edge 
of  the  voladero  on  the  side  of  the 
precipice. 

The  Mexicans  crossed  the  rocks 
without  difficulty,  and  soon  found 
themselves  before  the  dark  and 
frowning  entrance  of  the  cavern. 
The  chief  gave  his  peons  a  signal 
to  halt. 

"It  would  not  be  prudent,"  he 
said,  "to  venture  without  precau 
tions  into  this  cavern.  Prepare 
your  arms,  muchachos,  and  keep 
your  eyes  open ;  at  the  slightest  sus 
picious  sound,  or  the  smallest  object 
that  appears,  fire.  Capataz,  light  the 
torches." 

The  latter  obeyed  without  a  word ; 
the  leader  of  the  caravan  assured 
himself  at  a  glance  that  his  orders 
had  been  properly  carried  out ;  then 
taking  his  pistols  from  his  belt,  he 
cocked  them,  took  one  in  each  hand, 
and  said  to  Carnero — 

"  Take  the  lead,"  he  said,  with  a 
mocking  accent ;  "  it  is  only  just  that 
you  should  do  the  honors  of  this 
place  which  you  so  unexpectedly 
discovered.  Forward,  you  others, 
and  be  on  your  guard,"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  peons. 

The  eight  men  then  went  into  the 
cavern  at  the  heels  of  the  capataz, 
who  raised  the  torches  above  his 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


55 


capataz,  they  led  him,  as  well  as  the 
peons  and  the  prisoners  of  the 
second  caravan,  in  front  of  the  tri 
bunal,  where  they  ranged  them 
selves  in  line.  Then,  at  a  signal 
from  the  Jester,  the  horsemen  closed 
up  round  the  white  men,  who  were 
thus  hemmed  in  by  Comanche  war 
riors. 

The  spectacle  offered  by  this  as 
semblage  of  men,  with  their  marked 
features  and  quaint  garb,  grouped 
without  any  apparent  regularity  on 
this  voladero,  which  was  suspended 
as  if  artificially  over  a  terrible  gulf, 
and  leant  against  lofty  mountains, 
with  their  abrupt  flanks  and  snowy 
crest,  was  not  without  a  certain 
grandeur. 

A  deadly  silence  brooded  at  this 
moment  over  the  esplanade ;  all 
chests  were  heaving,  every  heart 
was  oppressed.  Red-skins,  hunters, 
and  Mexicans  all  understood  in 
stinctively  that  a  grand  drama  was 
about  to  be  performed;  invisible 
streams  could  be  heard  hoarsely 
murmuring  in  the  cavern,  and  at 
times  a  gust  of  wind  whistled  over 
the  heads  of  the  horsemen. 

The  prisoners,  affected  by  a 
vague  and  undefined  terror,  waited 
with  secret  anxiety,  not  knowing 
what  fate  these  ferocious  victors  re 
served  for  them,  but  certain  that, 
whatever  the  decision  formed  about 
them  might  be,  prayers  would  be  im 
potent  to  move  them,  and  that  they 
would  have  to  endure  the  atrocious 
torture  to  which  they  would  doubt 
less  be  condemned. 

The  president  looked  around  the 
assembly,  rose  in  the  midst  of  a 
profound  silence,  stretched  out  his 
arm  toward  the  general,  who  stood 
cold  and  passionless  before  him,  and, 
after  darting  at  him  a  withering 
glance  through  the  holes  made  in 
the  crape  that  concealed  his  face,  he 


said  in  a  grave,  stern,  and  impres 
sive  voice — 

"  Caballeros,  remember  the  words 
you  are  about  to  hear,  listen  to  them 
attentively,  so  as  to  understand  them, 
and  not  to  be  in  error  as  to  our 
intentions.  In  the  first  place,  in 
order  to  reassure  you  and  restore 
your  entire  freedom  of  mind,  learn 
that  you  have  not  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  Indians  thirsting  for  your 
blood,  or  of  pirates  who  intend  to 
plunder  you  first  and  assassinate 
you  afterwards.  No,  you  need  not 
feel  the  slightest  alarm.  When  you 
have  acted  as  impartial  witnesses, 
and  are  able  to  render  testimony  of 
what  you  have  seen,  should  it  be 
required,  you  will  be  at  liberty  to 
continue  your  journey,  without  the 
forfeiture  of  a  single  article.  The 
men  seated  on  my  right  and  left, 
although  masked,  are  brave  and 
honest  hunters.  The  day  may  per 
haps  arrive  when  you  will  know 
them;  but  reasons,  whose  import 
ance  you  will  speedily  recognize, 
compel  them  to  remain  unknown 
for  the  present.  I  was  bound  to  say 
this,  senores,  to  you  against  whom 
we  bear  no  animosity,  before"  com 
ing  to  a  final  settlement  with  this 
man." 

One  of  the  travellers  belonging  to 
the  second  caravan  stepped  forward ; 
he  was  a  young  man,  with  elegant 
and  noble  features,  tall  and  well- 
built. 

"Caballero,"  he  answered,  in  a 
distinct  and  sympathizing  voice, 
"I  thank  you,  in  the  name  of  my 
companions  and  myself,  for  the  re 
assuring  words  you  have  spoken. 
I  know  how  implacable  the  laws  of 
the  desert  are,  and  have  ever  sub 
mitted  to  them  without  a  murmur ; 
but  permit  me  to  ask  you  one  ques 
tion." 

"  Speak,  caballero." 


56 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"  Is  it  an  act  of  vengeance  or  jus 
tice  you  are  about  to  carry  out  ?" 

"  Neither,  senor.  It  would  be  an 
act  of  folly  or  weakness  if  the  in 
spirations  of  the  heart  could  be 
blamed  or  doubted  by  honorable 
and  loyal  men." 

"Enough  of  this,  senor,"  the 
general  said,  haughtily;  "and  if 
you  are  as  you  assert,  an  honorable 
man,  show  me  your  face,  in  order 
that  I  may  know  with  whom  I  have 
to  deal." 

The  president  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  contemptuously. 

"No,  Don  Sebastian,"  he  said, 
"for  in  that  case  the  game  would 
not  be  even  between  us.  But  be 
patient,  caballero,  and  soon  you  will 
learn,  if  not  who  I  am,  at  any  rate 
the  motives  which  have  made  me 
your  implacable  foe." 

The  general  attempted  to  smile, 
but  in  spite  of  himself  the  smile 
died  away  on  his  lips,  and  though 
his  haughty  bearing  seemed  to  defy 
his  unknown  enemies,  a  secret  ap 
prehension  contracted  his  heart. 

There  was  a  silence  for  some  mo 
ments,  during  which  no  other  sound 
was  audible  save  that  of  the  breeze 
whistling  through  the  denuded 
branches  and  the  distant  murmur 
of  the  invisible  torrents  in  the 
guebrades. 

The  president  looked  round  with 
flashing  eyes,  and  folding  his  arms 
on  his  chest  at  the  same  time,  as  he 
raised  his  head,  he  began  speaking 
again  in  a  sharp,  cutting  voice, 
whose  accents  caused  his  hearers  to 
tremble  involuntarily.  And  yet 
they  were  brave  men,  accustomed  to 
the  terrible  incidents  of  a  desert- 
life,  and  whom  the  most  serious 
dangers  could  not  have  affected. 

"Now  listen,  senores,"  he  said, 
"and  judge  this  man  impartially; 
but  do  not  judge  him  accord 
ing^  to  prairie  law,  but  in  your 


hearts.  General  Don  Sebastian  Guer 
rero,  who  is  standing  so  bold  and 
upright  before  you  at  this  moment, 
is  one  of  the  greatest  noblemen  of 
Mexico,  a  Christiana  viejo  of  the 
purest  blood,  descended  in  a  direct 
line  from  the  Spanish  Conquistadors. 
His  fortune  is  immense,  incalculable, 
and  he  himself  could  not  determine 
its  amount.  This  man,  by  the  mere 
strength  of  his  will,  and  the  im 
placable  egotism  that  forms  the 
basis  of  his  character,  has  always 
succeeded  in  every  thing  he  has  un 
dertaken.  Coldly  and  resolutely  am 
bitious,  he  has  covered  with  corpses 
the  bloody  road  he  was  compelled  to 
follow  in  order  to  attain  his  pro 
posed  object,  and  he  has  done  so 
without  hesitation  or  remorse;  he 
has  looked  on  with  a  smiling  face, 
when  his  dearest  friends  and  his 
nearest  relations  fell  by  his  side ; 
for  him  nothing  which  men  respect 
exists — faith  and  honor  are  with  him 
but  empty  sounds.  He  had  a 
daughter,  who  was  the  perfection 
of  women,  and  he  coldly  lacerated 
that  daughter's  heart;  he  fatally 
drove  her  to  suicide,  and  the  blood 
of  the  poor  girl  spirted  on  his  fore 
head,  while  he  was  triumphantly 
witnessing  the  legal  murder  of  the 
man  she  loved,  and  whose  death  he 
resolved  on,  because  he  refused  to 
palter  with  his  honor,  and  aid  this 
man  in  the  infamous  treachery  he 
was  meditating.  This  human-faced 
tiger,  this  monster  with  the  mocking, 
sceptical  face,  you  see,  senores,  has 
only  one  thought,  one  object,  one 
desire — it  is,  to  attain  the  highest 
rank,  even  if,  to  effect  it,  he  were 
compelled  to  clarnber  over  the  pant 
ing  corpses  of  his  relations  and 
friends  sacrificed  to  his  ambition; 
and  if  he  cannot  carve  out  an  inde 
pendent  kingdom  in  this  collapsing 
republic,  which  is  called  Mexico,  he 
wishes  to  seize,  at  least,  on  the 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


57 


supreme  magistracy,  and  be  elected 
president.  If  this  man's  life  merely 
comprised  this  egotistic  ambition 
and  these  infamous  schemes  to  satisfy 
it,  I  should  content  myself  with 
despising,  instead  of  hating  him, 
and  not  being  able  to  find  an  ex 
cuse  for  him,  I  should  forget  him. 
But  no ;  this  man  has  done  more — 
he  dared  to  lay  hands  on  a  man  who 
was  my  friend,  my  brother,  the 
Count  de  Pr6bois  Crance,  to  whom 
I  have  already  referred,  senores, 
without  mentioning  his  name.  Un 
able  to  conquer  the  count  loyally, 
despairing  of  winning  him  over  to 
his  shameful  cause,  he  at  first  tried 
to  poison  him;  but,  not  having 
succeeded,  and  wishing  to  come  to 
an  end,  he  forgot  that  his  daughter, 
an  angel,  the  sole  creature  who 
loved  him,  and  implored  divine 
mercy  for  him,  was  the  betrothed 
wife  of  the  count,  and  that  killing 
him  would  be  her  condemnation  to 
death.  In  his  horrible  thirst  for  re 
venge,  he  ordered  the  judicial  mur 
der  of  my  friend,  and  coldly  pre 
sided  at  the  execution,  not  noticing, 
in  the  joyous  deliverance  of  his 
satisfied  hatred,  that  his  daughter 
had  killed  herself  at  his  side,  and 
that  he  was  trampling  her  corpse 
beneath  his  horse's  feet.  Such  is 
what  this  man  has  done;  look  at 
him  well,  in  order  to  recognize  him 
hereafter ;  he  is  General  Don  Sebas 
tian  Guerrero,  military  governor 
of  Sornoa." 

"  Oh  !"  the  audience  said  involun 
tarily,  as  they  instinctively  recoiled 
in  horror. 

"  If  this  man  is  the  ex-governor  of 
Sonora,"  the  hunter  who  had  already 
spoken  said,  in  disgust,  "  he  is  a  wild 
beast,  whom  his  ferocity  has  placed 
beyond  the  pale  of  society,  and  it  is 
the  duty  of  honest  men  to  destroy 
him," 


"He  must  die!  he  must  diel"  the 
new-comers  exclaimed. 

The  general's  peons  were  gloomy 
and  downcast ;  they  hung  their 
heads  sadly,  for  they  did  not  dare 
attempt  to  defend  their  master,  and 
yet  did  not  like  to  accuse  him. 

The  general  was  still  cool  and  un 
moved  ;  he  was  apparently  calm,  but 
a  fearful  tempest  was  raging  in  his 
heart.  His  face  was  of  an  earthly 
and  cadaverous  pallor ;  his  brows 
•were  contracted  till  they  touched, 
and  his  violet  lips  were  closed,  as  if 
he  were  making  violent  efforts  not 
to  utter  a  word,  and  to  restrain  his 
fury  from  breaking  out  in  insults. 
His  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  then  his 
whole  body  was  agitated  by  convul 
sive  movements,  but  he  managed, 
through  his  self-command,  to  con 
quer  his  emotion,  and  retain  the 
expression  of  withering  contempt 
which  he  had  assumed  since  the  be 
ginning  of  this  scene. 

Seeing  that  his  accuser  was  silent, 
he  took  a  step  forward,  and  stretched 
out  his  arm,  as  if  he  claimed  the 
right  of  answering.  But  his  enemy 
gave  him  no  time  to  utter  a  word. 

"  Wait  1"  he  shouted,  "  I  have  not 
said  all  yet;  now  that  I  have  re 
vealed  what  you  have  done,  I  am 
bound  to  render -the  persons  here 
present  judges  not  only  of  what  I 
have  done,  but  also  of  what  I  in 
tend  to  do  in  future  against  you." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   DECLARATION   OF  WAR. 

THE  general  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  with  a  contemptuous  smile. 
"Nonsense,"  he  said,  "you  are 


58 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


mad,  my  fine  fellow.  I  know  now 
who  you  are ;  your  hatred  of  me  has 
unconsciously  discovered  you.  Re 
move  that  vail  which  is  no  longer 
of  any  use ;  I  know  you,  for,  as  you 
are  aware,  hatred  is  clear-sighted. 
You  are  the  French  hunter  whom  I 
have  constantly  met  in  my  path  to 
impede  my  projects,  or  overthrow 
my  plans." 

"Add,"  the  hunter  interrupted, 
"  and  whom  you  will  ever  meet." 

"  Be  it  so,  unless  I  crush  you  be 
neath  my  heel  like  a  noxious  in 
sect." 

"  Ever  so  proud  and  so  indomita 
ble,  do  you  not  fear  lest,  exasperated 
by  your  insults,  I  may  forget  the 
oath  I  have  taken,  and  sacrifice  you 
to  my  vengeance  ?" 

"Nonsense,"  he  replied,  with  a 
disdainful  toss  of  his  head,  "you 
kill  me  ?  that  is  impossible,  for  you 
are  too  anxious  to  enjoy  your  re 
venge  to  stab  me  in  a  moment  of 
passion." 

"  That  is  true,  this  time  you  are 
right,  Don  Sebastian.  I  will  not  kill 
yorf,  because,  however  culpable  you 
may  be,  I  do  not  recognize  the  right 
to  do  so.  Blood  does  not  wash  out 
blood,  it  only  increases  the  stain; 
and  I  intend  to  take  a  more  pro 
tracted  vengeance  on  you  than  a 
stab  or  a  shot  will  grant  us.  Be 
sides  this,  vengeance  has  already 
commenced." 

"  Indeed !"  the  general  said  sarcas 
tically. 

"  Still,"  the  hunter  continued  with 
some  emotion,  "as  the  vengeance 
muft  be  straightforward,  I  wish  to 
give  you,  in  the  presence  of  all  these 
gentlemen,  the  proof  that  I  fear  you 
no  more  to-day  than  I  did  when  the 
struggle  commenced  between  us. 
This  vail  which  you  reproach  me 
for  wearing  I  am  going  to  remove, 
not  because  you  have  recognized 
me,  but  because  I  deem  it  unworthy 


of  me  to  conceal  my  features  from 
you  any  longer.  Brothers,"  he 
added,  turning  to  his  silent  assist 
ants,  "  my  mask  alone  must  fall,  re 
tain  yours,  for  it  is  important  for 
my  plans  of  vengeance  that  you 
should  remain  unknown." 

The  four  men  bowed  their  assent, 
and  the  hunter  threw  away  the 
crape  that  covered  his  features. 

"  Valentine  Guillois !"  the  general 
exclaimed;  "I  was  sure  of  it." 

On  hearing  this  celebrated  name, 
the  hunters  of  the  second  caravan 
made  a  movement  as  if  to  rush  for 
ward,  impelled  either  by  curiosity 
or  some  other  motive. 

"Stay,"  the  Frenchman  shouted, 
stopping  them  by  a  quick  wave  of 
the  hand,  "let  me  finish  with  this 
man  first." 

They  fell  back  with  a  bow. 

''Now,"  he  continued,  "we  are 
really  face  to  face.  Well,  lister 
patiently  to  what  still  remains  for 
me  to  tell  you;  and,  perhaps,  the 
assumed  calmness  spread  over  your 
features  will  melt  away  before  my 
words,  like  the  snow  in  the  sun 
shine." 

"  I  will  listen  to  you,  because  it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  do  otherwise 
at  this  moment ;  but  if  you  flatter 
yourself  that  you  will  affect  me  in 
any  way,  I  am  bound  to  warn  you 
that  you  will  not  succeed.  The 
hatred  I  feel  for  you  is  so  thorough 
ly  balanced  by  the  contempt  you  in 
spire  me  with,  that  nothing  which 
emanates  from  you  can  move  me  in 
the  slightest  degree." 

"  Listen  then,"  the  hunter  coldly 
continued ;  "  when  my  unhappy 
friend  fell  at  Guaymas,  in  my 
paroxysm  of  grief  I  allow  that  I 
intended  to  kill  you ;  but  reflection 
soon  came,  and  I  saw  that  it  would 
be  better  to  let  you  live.  Thanks 
to  me,  one  week  after  the  count's 
death,  the  Mexican  Government, 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


59 


not  satisfied  with  disavowing  your 
conduct  publicly ,  deprived  you  of 
your  command,  without  inquiry,  and 
refused,  in  spite  of  your  remon 
strances,  to  explain  to  you  the  mo 
tives  of  their  conduct." 

"Ah,  ah,"  the  general  said,  in  a 
hissing  but  suppressed  voice,  "  it 
was  to  you,  then,  that  1  owe  my 
recall?"" 

"  Yes,  general,  to  me  alone." 
"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it." 
"  You  remained,  then,  in  Sonora, 
without  power  or  influence,  hated 
and  despised  by  all,  and  marked  on 
your  forehead  with  that  indelible 
brand  which  God  imprinted  on 
Cain,  the  first  murderer  ;  but  Mex 
ico  is  a  blessed  country,  where  am 
bitious  men  can  easily  fish  in  trou 
bled  waters,  when,  like  yourself,  they 
are  not  restrained  by  any  of  those 
bonds  of  honor,  which  too  often  fet 
ter  the  genius  of  honest  men.  You 
could  not  remain  long  bowed  beneath 
the  blow  that  had  fallen  on  you,  and 
you  made  up  your  mind  in  a  few 
days.  You  resolved  to  leave  Sonora 
and  proceed  to  Mexico,  where,  thanks 
to  your  colossal  fortune,  and  the  in 
fluence  it  would  necessarily  give 
you,  you  could  carry  on  your  ambi 
tious  projects ;  by  changing  the 
scene,  you  hoped  to  cast  the  scan 
dalous  acts  of  which  you  had  been 
guilty  into  oblivion.  Your  prepa 
rations  were  soon  made — listen  at 
tentively,  general,  to  this,  for  I  as 
sure  you  that  I  have  reached  the 
most  interesting  part  of  my  narra 
tion." 

"  Go  on,  go  on,  senor,"  he  replied 
carelessly,  "I  am  listening  to  you 
attentively ;  do  not  fear  that  I  shall 
forget  one  of  your  words." 

"  In  spite  of  your  affected  indiffer 
ence,  senor,  I  will  go  on.  As  you 
fancied,  for  certain  reasons  which  it 
is  unnecessary  to  remind  you  of,  that 
your  enemies  might  try  to  lay  some 


ambush  for  you  during  the  long 
journey  you  were  obliged  to  perform 
from  Hermosillo  to  Mexico,  you 
thought  it  necessary  to  take  the  fol 
lowing  precautions,  the  inutility  of 
some  of  which  I  presume  that  you 
have  recognized  by  this  time.  While, 
for  the  purpose  of  deceiving  your 
enemies,  you  started  in  disguise,  and 
only  accompanied  by  a  few  men,  for 
California,  in  order  to  return  to 
Mexico  across  the  Rocky  Mountains; 
while  you  gave  questioners  the  full 
est  details  of  the  road,  you  pretended 
to  follow,  with  your  men — your  real 
object  was  quite  different.  The  man 
in  whom  you  placed  your  confidence, 
Don  Isidro  Vargas,  a  veteran  of 
your  War  of  Independence,  who 
had  known  you  when  a  child,  and 
whom  you  had  converted  into  your 
tool,  took  the  shortest,  and,  conse 
quently,  most  direct  route  for  the 
capital,  having  with  him  not  only 
twelve  mules  loaded  with  gold  and 
silver,  the  fruit  of  your  plunder 
during  the  period  of  your  command, 
but  a  more  precious  article  still,  the 
body  of  your  unhappy  daughter, 
which  you  had  embalmed,  and 
which  the  captain  had  orders  to  in 
ter  with  your  ancestors  at  your 
Hacienda  del  Palmar,  which  you 
left  so  long  ago,  and  to  which  you 
will,  in  all  probability,  never  return. 
Your  object  in  acting  thus  was  not 
only  to  divert  attention  from  your 
ill-gotten  riches,  but  also  to  attract 
your  enemies  after  yourself.  Unfor 
tunately  or  fortunately,  according 
as  we  regard  the  matter,  I  am  an 
old  hunter  so  difficult  to  deceive 
that  my  comrades  gave  me  long  ago 
the  glorious  title  of  the  Trail-hunter, 
and  hence,  while  everybody  else  was 
forming  speculations  about  you,  I 
alone  was  not  deceived,  and  guessed 
your  plan." 

"  Still,  your  presence  here  gives  a 
striking   denial    to   the  assertion," 


60 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


the  general  interrupted  him,  ironi 
cally. 

"You  think  so,  senor,  and  that 
proves  that  you  are  not  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  me  yet;  but  pa 
tience,  I  hope  that  you  will,  ere 
long,  appreciate  me  better.  More 
over,  you  have  not  reflected  on  the 
time  that  has  elapsed  since  your  de 
parture  from  Hermosillo." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the 
general  asked,  with  a  sudden  start 
of  apprehension. 

"I  mean  that  before  attacking 
yon,  I  resolved  to  settle  matters  first 
with  the  captain." 

"Ah !" 

"Well,  general,  it  is  my  painful 
duty  to  inform  you  that  four  days 
after  he  left  Pitic,  our  brave  friend 
Don  Isidro,  although  an  old  and 
experienced  soldier,  well  versed  in 
war  stratagems,  fell  into  an  ambus 
cade  resembling  the  one  into  which 
you  fell  to-day,  with  this  excep 
tion " 

"What  exception?"  the  general 
asked,  with  greater  interest  than  he 
would  have  liked  to  display,  for  he 
was  beginning  to  fear  a  catastrophe. 

"My  men  were  so  imprudent," 
the  hunter  continued,  ironically,  "as 
to  leave  the  captain  the  means  of 
defending  himself.  The  result  was 
that  he  died,  bravely  fighting  to 
save  the  gold  you  had  intrusted  to 
him,  and,  before  all,  the  coffin  con 
taining  your  daughter's  corpse." 

"  Well,  and  I  presume  you  plun 
dered  the  caravan,  and  carried  off 
the  gold  and  silver?"  he  asked,  con 
temptuously. 

"You  would  most  probably  have 
acted  thus  under  similar  circum 
stances,  Don  Sebastian,"  the  hunter 
answered,  giving  him  back  insult 
for  insult;  "but  I  thought  it  my 
duty  to  act  differently.  What  could 
you  expect?  I,  a  coarse,  unedu 
cated  hunter,  do  not  know  how  to 


plunder,  for  I  did  not  learn  it  when 
I  had  the  honor  to  serve  my  own 
country,  and  I  never  stood  under 
your  orders  in  Mexico.  This  is 
what  I  did :  so  soon  as  the  captain 
and  the  peons  he  commanded  were 
killed — for  the  poor  devils,  I  must 
do  them  the  justice  of  saying,  offered 
a  desperate  resistance — I  myself,  you 
understand,  friend,  I  myself  con 
veyed  the  money  to  your  Hacienda 
del  Palmar,  where  it  now  remains  in 
safety,  as  you  can  easily  assure 
yourself  if  you  ever  return  to  Pal 
mar." 

The  general  breathed  again,  and 
smiled  ironically.  "  Instead  of 
blaming  you,  senor,"  he  said,  "  I,  on 
the  contrary,  owe  you  thanks  for  this 
chivalrous  conduct,  especially  to 
ward  an  enemy." 

"Do  not  be  in  such  a  hurry  to 
thank  me,  caballero,"  the  hunter  an 
swered;  "I  have  not  told  you  all 
yet." 

These  words  were  uttered  with 
such  an  accent  of  gratified  hatred, 
that  all  the  hearers,  the  general  in 
cluded,  shuddered  involuntarily,  for 
they  understood  that  the  hunter  was 
about  to  make  a  terrible  revelation, 
and  that  the  calmness  he  feigned 
concealed  a  tempest. 

"Ah,"  Don  Sebastian  murmured, 
"  speak,  I  implore  you,  senor,  for  I 
am  anxious  to  know  all  the  obliga 
tions  I  owe  you." 

"  Captain  Don  Isidro  Vargas  not 
only  escorted  the  money  I  had  con 
veyed  to  Palmar,"  he  said  in  a  sharp, 
quick  voice,  "  but  there  was  also  a 
coffin.  Well,  general,  why  do  you 
not  ask  me  what  has  become  of  that 
coffin?" 

An  electric  shock  ran  through  the 
audience  on  hearing  the  ironical 
question  so  coldly  asked  by  the 
hunter,  whose  eye,  implacably  fixed 
on  the  general,  seemeu  to  flash  fire. 

"What!"     Don    Sebastian    ex- 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


61 


claimed,  "I  can  hardly  think  that 
you  have  committed  sacrilege  ?" 

Valentine  burst  into  a  loud  and 
sharp  laugh.  "Your  suppositions 
ever  go  beyond  the  object.  I  com 
mit  sacrilege,  oh,  no !  I  loved  the 
poor  girl  too  dearly  when  alive  to 
outrage  her  after  death.  No,  no — 
the  betrothed  of  my  friend  is  sacred 
to  me;  but  as,  in  my  opinion,  the 
assassin  can  have  no  claim  to  the 
body  of  his  victim,  and  you  are 
morally  your  daughter's  murderer, 
I  have  robbed  you  of  this  body, 
which  you  are  not  worthy  to  have, 
and  which  must  rest  by  the  side  of 
him  for  whom  she  died." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 
The  general's  face,  hitherto  pale, 
assumed  a  greenish  hue,  and  his 
eyes  were  suffused  with  blood.  Now 
and  then  he  made  superhuman  ef 
forts  to  speak,  which  were  unsuc 
cessful,  but  at  length  he  yelled  in  a 
hoarse  and  hissing  voice — 

"It  is  not  true;  you  have  not 
done  this.  You  cannot  have  dared 
to  rob  a  father  of  his  child's  body." 

"I  have  done  it,  I  tell  you,"  the 
hunter  said  coldly.  "  I  have  taken 
possession  of  the  body  of  your  vic 
tim,  and  now  you  understand  me; 
never  shall  you  know  where  this 
poor  body  rests.  But  this  is  only 
the  beginning  of  my  vengeance. 
What  I  wish  to  kill  in  you  is  the 
soul  and  not  the  body ;  and  now  be 
gone.  Go  and  forget  at  Mexico, 
amid  your  ambitious  intrigues,  the 
scene  that  has  passed  between  us; 
but  remember  that  you  will  find  me 
in  your  path  everywhere  and  ever. 
Farewell  till  we  meet  again." 

"  One  last  word,"  the  general  ex 
claimed,  affected  by  the  deepest  de 
spair,  "restore  me  my  daughter's 
body ;  she  was  the  only  human  crea 
ture  I  ever  loved." 

The  hunter  regarded  him  for  a 
moment  with  an  undefinable  expres- 
4 


sion,  and  then  said  in  a  harsh  and 
coldly-mocking  voice,  "Never." 

Then,  turning  away,  he  re-entered 
the  grotto,  followed  by  his  assist 
ants.  The  general  tried  to  rush  after 
him,  but  the  Indians  restrained  him, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  resistance,  com 
pelled  him  to  stop. 

Don  Sebastian,  who  was  the  more 
overwhelmed  by  this  last  blow  be 
cause  it  was  unexpected,  stood  for  a 
moment  like  a  man  struck  by  light 
ning,  with  pendant  arms  and  seared 
eyes.  At  last  a  heart-rending  sob 
burst  from  his  bosom,  two  burning 
tears  sprung  from  his  eyes,  and  he 
rolled  like  a  corpse  on  the  ground. 

The  very  Indians,  those  rough 
warriors  to  whom  pity  is  a  thing  un 
known,  felt  moved  by  this  frightful 
despair,  and  several  of  them  turned 
away  not  to  witness  it. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Jester  had 
ordered  the  peons  to  saddle  the 
horses  and  load  the  mules.  The 
general  was  placed  by  two  servants 
on  a  horse,  without  appearing  to  no 
tice  what  was  done  to  him,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  the  caravan  left 
the  Fort  of  the  Chichimeques,  and 
passed  unimpeded  through  the  silent 
ranks  of  the  Indians,  who  bowed  as 
it  passed. 

When  the  Mexicans  had  disap 
peared  in  the  windings  of  the  road. 
Valentine  emerged  from  the  grotto, 
and  walked  courteously  up  to  the 
hunters  of  the  second  caravan. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said  to  them, 
"  not  the  delay  I  have  occasioned  you, 
but  the  involuntary  alarm  I  caused 
you ;  but  I  was  compelled  to  act  as 
I  did.  You  are  going  to  Mexico, 
where  I  shall  soon  be  myself,  and  it 
is  possible  that  I  may  require  your 
testimony  some  day." 

"  A  testimony  which  will  not  be 
refused,  my  dear  countryman,"  the 
hunter  who  had  hitherto  spoken 
gracefully  answered. 


62 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"  What !"  the  hunter  exclaimed 
in  amazement,  "are  you  French?" 

"Yes,  and  all  my  companions  are 
so  too.  We  have  come  from  San 
Francisco,  where,  thanks  to  Provi 
dence,  we  have  amassed  a  very  con 
siderable  fortune,  which  we  hope  to 
double  in  the  Mexican  capital.  My 
name  is  Antoine  Rallier,  and  these 
are  my  brothers,  Edward  and  Au 
gustus  ;  the  two  ladies  who  accom 
pany  us  are  my  mother  and  sister, 
and  if  you  know  nobody  in  Mexico, 
come  straight  to  me,  sir,  and  you 
will  be  received,  not  only  as  a  friend, 
but  as  a  brother." 

The  hunter  pressed  the  hand  his 
countryman  offered  him. 

"  As  this  is  the  case,"  he  said,  "  I 
will  not  let  you  go  alone,  for  these 
mountains  are  infested  by  bandits 
of  every  description,  whom  you  may 
not  escape,  but  with  my  protection 
you  can  pass  anywhere." 

"  I  heartily  accept  the  offer ;  but 
why  do  you  not  come  with  us  to 
Mexico  ?" 

"  That  is  impossible  for  the  pres 
ent,"  the  hunter  answered  pensive 
ly;  "but  be  at  your  ease.  I  shall 
not  fail  to  demand  the  fulfilment  of 
your  promise." 

"  You  will  be  welcome,  friend,  for 
we  have  been  acquainted  for  a  long 
time,  and  we  know  that  you  have 
ever  honorably  represented  France 
in  America." 

Two  hours  later  the  Fort  of  the 
Chichimeques  had  returned  to  its 
usual  solitude;  white  men  and  In 
dians  had  abandoned  it  forever. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MEXICO. 

WE  will  now  leap  over  about  two 
months  and,  leaving  the  Kocky 
Mountains,  invite  the  reader  to  ac 
company  us  to  the  heart  of  Mexico 

The  Spanish  Conquistadors  se 
lected  with  admirable  tact  the  sites 
on  which  they  founded  the  cities 
destined  to  insure  their  power,  and 
become  at  a  later  date  the  centres  of 
their  immense  trade,  and  the  entre 
pots  of  their  incalculable  wealth. 

Even  at  the  present  day,  although 
owing  to  the  negligence  of  the 
Creoles  and  their  continual  fratrici 
dal  wars  combined  with  the  sudden 
earthquakes,  these  cities  are  half 
ruined,  and  the  life  which  the  power 
ful  Spanish  organization  caused  to 
circulate  in  them  has  died  out,  these 
cities  are  still  a  subject  of  surprise 
to  the  traveller  accustomed  to  the 
morbid  crowding  of  old  European 
cities.  He  regards  with  awe  these 
vast  squares,  surrounded  by  cloister- 
like  arcades  ;  these  broad  and  regu 
lar  streets  through  which  refreshing 
waters  continually  flow;  these  shady 
gardens  in  which  thousands  of 
gayly-plumaged  birds  twitter;  these 
bold  bridges ;  these  majestically 
simple  buildings,  whose  interiors 
contain  incalculable  wealth.  And 
yet,  we  repeat,  the  majority  of  these 
cities  are  only  the  shadow  of  them 
selves.  They  seem  dead,  and  are 
only  aroused  by  the  furious  yells 
of  an  insurrection,  to  lead  for  a  few 
days  a  feverish  existence  under  the 
excitement  of  political  passions. 
But  so  soon  as  the  corpses  are 
removed,  and  water  has  washed 
away  the  blood  stains,  the  streets 
revert  to  their  solitude,  the  inhabi 
tants  hide  themselves  in  their  care 
fully-closed  houses,  and  all  become 
again  gloomy,  mournful,  and  silent, 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


63 


only  to  be  galvanized  afresh  by  the 
hoarse  murmurs  of  an  approaching 
revolt. 

If  we  except  Lima,  the  splendid 
"Ciudad  de  los  Keyes,"  Mexico  is 
probably  the  largest  and  handsomest 
of  all  the  cities  that  cover  the  soil 
of  ancient  Spanish  America. 

From  whatever  point  we  regard 
it,  Mexico  affords  a  magnificent 
view ;  but  if  you  wish  to  enjoy  a 
really  fairy-like  sight,  ascend  at 
sunset  one  of  the  towers  of  the 
cathedral,  whence  you  will  see  the 
strangest  and  most  picturesque  pano 
rama  imaginable  unrolled  at  your 
feet. 

Mexico  certainly  existed  before 
the  discovery  of  America,  and  our 
readers  will  probably  pardon  a 
digression  showing  how  the  founda 
tion  of  the  city  is  narrated  by  old 
chroniclers. 

In  the  year  of  the  death  of  Iluet- 
zin,  King  of  Tezcuco,  that  is  to  say, 
"  the  spot  where  people  stop,"  because 
it  was  at  this  very  place  that  the 
migration  of  the  Chichimeques  ter 
minated,  the  Mexicans  made  an  erup 
tion  into  the  country,  and  reached 
the  place  where  Mexico  now  stands, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  year  1140 
of  our  era.  This  place  then  formed 
part  of  the  dominions  of  Aculhua, 
Lord  of  Atzcaputzalco. 

According  to  paintings  and  the 
old  chronicles,  these  Indians  came 
from  the  empires  of  the  province 
of  Xalisco.  It  appears  that  they 
were  of  the  same  race  as  the  Tol- 
tecs,  and  of  the  family  of  the  noble 
lluetzin,  who  with  his  children  and 
servants  escaped  during  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  Toltecs,  and  was  residing 
at  that  period  at  Chapultepec,  which 
was  also  destroyed  at  a  later  date. 

It  is  recorded  that  he  traversed 
with  them  the  country  of  Michoacan, 
and  took  refuge  in  the  province 
of  Atzlan,  where  he  died,  and  had 


for  his  successors  Ozolopan,  his  son, 
and  Aztlal,  his  grandson,  whose 
heir  was  Ozolopan  II.  The  latter, 
remembering  the  country  of  his  an 
cestors,  resolved  to  return  thither 
with  his  entire  nation,  which  was 
already  called  Mezetin.  After  many 
adventures  and  combats,  they  at 
length  reached  the  banks  of  a  great- 
lake  covered  with  an  infinitude  of 
islands,  and  as  the  recollection  of 
their  country  had  been  traditionally 
kept  up  among  them,  they  at  once 
recognized  it,  though  not  one  of  them 
had  ever  seen  it  before.  Too  weak 
to  resist  the  people  that  surrounded 
them,  or  to  establish  themselves 
in  the  open  country,  they  founded 
on  several  of  the  islands,  which 
they  connected  together,  a  town, 
which  they  called  alter  themselves, 
Mexico,  and  which  at  a  later  date 
was  destined  to  be  the  capital  of  a 
powerful  empire. 

Although  the  Mexicans  arrived 
on  the  banks  of  the  lake  in  1140, 
it  was  not  till  two  years  later  that 
the  American  Venice  began  to 
emerge  from  the  bosom  of  the 
waters. 

We  have  dwelt  on  these  details 
in  order  to  correct  an  error  made 
by  a  modern  author,  who  attributes 
to  the  Aztecs  the  foundation  of  this 
city,  to  which  he  gives  the  name 
of  Tenochtitlan,  instead  of  Temix- 
tetlan,  which  is  the  correct  name.* 


*  In  order  to  protect  themselves  from  the  mis 
fortunes  which  had  before  crushed  them,  tho 
Mexicans  placed  themselves  under  the  safeguard 
of  the  King  of  Azcaputzalco,  on  whose  lan;lg 
they  had  established  themselves.  This  prince 
gave  them  two  of  his  sons  as  governors,  of 
whom  tho  first  was  Aeamapuhtli,  chief  of  the 
Tetuic'acHS.  On  their  arrival  in  Ahanuec,  these 
Indians  had  found  on  the  summit  of  a  rock  a  nopal, 
in  which  was  an  eagle  devouring  a  serpent,  and 
they  took  their  name  from  it.  Aeamapuhtli 
selected  this  emblem  as  tho  totem  of  the  race  he 
was  called  upon  to  govern.  During  the  War  of 
Independence,  the  insurgents  adopted  this  hiero 
glyphic  as  the  arms  of  the  Mexican  Republic, 
in  memory  of  the  ancient  and  glorious  origin  of 
which  it  reminded  them. 


THE    BED     TRACK. 


Like  Venice,  its  European  sister, 
Mexico  was  only  a  collection  of 
cabins,  offering  a  precarious  shelter 
to  wretched  fishermen,  who  were 
incessantly  kept  in  a  state  of  alarm 
by  the  attacks  of  their  neighbors. 
The  Mexicans,  at  first  scattered  over 
a  great  number  of  small  islands, 
felt  the  necessity  of  collecting  to 
gether  in  order  to  offer  a  better 
resistance.  By  their  patience  and 
courage  they  succeeded  in  building 
houses,  raised  on  piles,  and  employ 
ing  the  mudvof  the  lagoons,  held 
together  by  branches  of  trees,  they 
created  the  ckinampca,  or  floating 
gardens,  the  most  curious  in  the 
world,  on  which  they  sowed  vegeta 
bles,  pimento,  and  maize,  and  thus, 
with  the  aquatic  birds  they  managed 
to  catch  on  the  lake,  they  contrived 
to  be  entirely  independent  of  their 
neighbors. 

Almost  destroyed  during  the  ob 
stinate  fights  between  the  natives 
and  the  Spaniards,  Mexico,  four 
years  after  the  conquest,  was  en 
tirely  rebuilt  by  Fernando  Cortez. 
But  the  new  city  in  no  way  resem 
bled  the  old  one.  Most  of  the 
canals  were  filled  up,  and  paved 
over;  magnificent  palaces  and  sump 
tuous  monasteries  rose  as  if  by 
enchantment,  and  the  city  became 
entirely  Spanish. 

Mexico  has  been  so  frequently 
described  by  more  practised  pens 
than  ours,  and  we,  in  previous  works, 
have  had  such  frequent  occasions  to 
allude  to  it,  that  we  will  not  attempt 
any  description  here,  but  continue 
our  story  without  further  delay. 

It  was  October  12th,  1854,  two 
months,  day  for  day,  had  elapsed 
since  the  unfortunate  Count  de  Pre- 
bois  ^Crance,  victim  of  an  iniqui 
tous  sentence,  had  honorably  fallen 
at  Guaymas  beneath  the  Mexican 
bullets.*  A  thick  fog  had  hung 


*  See  the  "Indian  Chief."     Same  publishers. 


over  the  city  for  the  whole  day, 
changing  at  times  into  a  fine  drizzle  - 
which  after  sunset  became  sharper, 
although  a  heavy  fog  still  prevailed. 
However,  at  about  eight  in  the 
evening  the  rain  ceased  to  fall,  and 
the  stagnant  waters  of  the  lake  be 
gan  to  reflect  a  few  particles  of 
brighter  sky.  The  snow-clad  sum 
mit  of  Iztaczihuatl,  or  the  White 
Woman,  feebly  glistened  in  the 
pale  watery  moonbeams,  while  Popo 
catepetl  remained  buried  in  the 
clouds.* 

The  streets  and  squares  were  de 
serted,  although  the  nisrht  was  not 

7  O  O 

yet  far  advanced ;  for  the  loungers 
and  promenaders,  driven  away  by 
the  weather,  had  returned  to  their 
homes.  A  deep  silence  brooded 
over  the  city,  whose  lights  expired 
one  after  the  other,  and  only  at 
lengthened  intervals  could  be  heard 
on  the  greasy  pavement  the  footsteps 
of  the  serenos,  or  watchmen,  who 
performed  their  melancholy  walk, 
with  the  indifferent  air  peculiar  to 
that  estimable  corporation.  At 
times  a  few  discordant  sounds,  es 
caping  from  the  velorios  were  borne 
along  on  the  breeze ;  but  that  was 
all — the  city  seemed  asleep. 

Half-past  nine  was  striking  by  the 
cathedral  clock  at  the  moment  when 
a  dull  sound  resembling  the  rustling 
of  reeds  shaken  by  the  wind,  was 
audible  on  the  gigantic  highway 
joining  the  city  to  the  main  land. 
This  sound  soon  became  more  dis 
tinct,  and  changed  into  the  tram 
pling  of  horses,  which  was  deadened 
by  the  damp  air  and  the  ground 
softened  by  a  lengthened  rain.  A 
black  mass  emerged  from  the  fog, 
and  two  horsemen  wrapped  in  thick 
cloaks  stood  out  distinctly  in  the 
moonlight. 

These  horsemen  seemed  to  have 


*  This  second  volcano,  whose  uarao  indicates 
"  The  Smoking  Mountain,"  is  near  the  former. 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


65 


made  a  long  journey ;  their  steeds, 
covered  with  mud,  limped  at  each 
step,  and  only  advanced  with  ex 
treme  difficulty.  They  at  length 
reached  a  low  house,  through  whose 
dirty  panes  a  doubtful  light  issued, 
which  showed  that  the  inhabitants 
were  still  awake. 

The  horsemen  stopped  before  this 
house,  which  was  an  inn,  and  with 
out  dismounting,  one  of  them  gave 
the  door  two  or  three  kicks,  and 
called  the  host  in  a  loud  sharp  voice. 
The  latter,  doubtless  disturbed  by 
this  unusual  summons  at  so  im 
proper  an  hour,  was  in  no  hurry  to 
answer,  and  would  have  probably 
left  the  strangers  for  some  time  in 
the  cold,  if  the  man  who  had  kicked, 
probably  tired  of  waiting,  had  not 
thought  of  an  expeditious  means  of 
obtaining  an  answer. 

"  Voto  d  Brios  /"  he  shouted,  as  he 
drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster  arid 
cocked  it,  "since  this  dog  is  resolved 
not  to  open,  I  will  send  a  bullet 
through  his  window." 

This  menace  had  been  scarce  ut 
tered  ere  the  door  opened  as  if  by 
enchantment,  and  the  landlord  ap 
peared  on  the  threshold.  This  man 
resembled  landlords  in  all  countries; 
he  had,  like  them,  a  sleek  and  crafty 
look,  but  at  this  moment  his  obse 
quiousness  badly  concealed  a  pro 
found  terror,  evidenced  by  the 
earthy  pallor  of  his  face. 

"Hola,  caballero,"  he  said,  with  a 
respectful  bow,  "have  a  little  pa 
tience,  if  you  please.  Caramba! 
how  quick  you  are;  it  is  plain  to 
see  that  you  are  forasteros,  and  not 
acquainted  with  the  custom  of  our 
country." 

"No  matter  who  I  am,"  the 
stranger  answered  sharply;  "are 
you  a  landlord — yes  or  no  ?" 

"I  have  that  honor,  caballero," 
the  host  remarked,  with  a  deeper 
bow  than  the  first. 


1  "If  you  are  so,  scoundrel,"  the 
stranger  exclaimed  angrily,  "  by 
what  right  do  you,  whose  duty  it  is 
to  be  at  the  orders  of  the  public, 
dare  to  keep  me  waiting  thus  at 
your  door  ?" 

The  landlord  had  a  strong  incli 
nation  to  get  into  a  passion,  but  the 
resolute  tone  of  the  man  who  ad 
dressed  him,  and,  above  all,  the 
pistol  he  still  held  in  his  hand,  urged 
him  to  prudence  and  moderation  ; 
hence  he  answered  with  profound 
humility — * 

"  Believe  me,  senor,  that  if  1  had 
known  what  a  distinguished  cabal 
lero  did  me  the  honor  of  stopping 
before  my  humble  dwelling,  I  should 
have  hastened  to  open." 

"A  truce  to  such  impertinent 
remarks,  and  open  the  door." 

The  landlord  bowed  without  re 
plying  this  time,  and  whistled  a  lad, 
who  came  to  help  him  in  holding 
the  travellers'  horses ;  the  latter 
dismounted  and  entered  the  inn, 
while  their  tired  steeds  were  led  to 
the  corral  by  the  boy. 

The  room  into  which  the  travel 
lers  were  introduced,  was  low,  black, 
and  furnished  with  tables  and 
benches  in  a  filthy  state,  and  mostly 
broken,  while  the  floor  of  stamped 
earth  was  greasy  and  uneven.  Above 
the  bar  was  a  statuette  of  the  Virgin 
de  la  Soledad,  before  which  burned 
a  greasy  candle.  In  short,  this  inn 
had  nothing  attractive  or  comforta 
ble  about  it,  and  seemed  to  be  a 
velorio  of  the  lowest  class,  appa 
rently  used  by  the  most  wretched 
and  least  honorable  ranks  of  Mexi 
can  society. 

A  glance  was  sufficient  for  the 
travellers  to  understand  the  place  to 
which  accident  had  led  them,  still 
they  did  not  display  any  of  the"  dis 
gust  which  the  sight  of  this,  cut 
throat  den  inspired  them  with.  They 
seated  themselves  as  comfortably  as 


66 


THE     BED     TRACK. 


they  could  at  a  table,  and  the  one 
\vho  had  hitherto  addressed  mine 
host  went  on,  while  his  silent  com 
panion  leaned  against  the  wall,  and 
drew  the  folds  of  his  cloak  still 
higher  up  his  face. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "we  are 
literally  dying  of  hunger,  patron ; 
could  you  not  serve  us  up  a  morsel 
of  something  ?  I  don't  care  what  it 
is  in  the  shape  of  food." 

"  Hum !"  said  the  host  with  an 
embarrassed  air,  "it  is  very  late, 
caballero,  and  I  don't  believe  I  have 
even  a  maize  tortilla  left  in  the  whole 
house." 

"Nonsense,"  the  traveller  replied, 
"I  know  all  about  it,  so  let  us  deal 
frankly  with  each  other;  give  rne 
some  supper,  for  I  am  hungry,  and 
we  will  not  squabble  about  the 
price." 

''Even  if  you  paid  me  a  piastre 
for  every  tortilla,  excellency,  I  really 
could  not  supply  you  with  two,"  the 
landlord  replied,  with  increased  con 
straint. 

The  traveller  looked  at  him  fix 
edly  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  then 
laid  his  hand  firmly  on  his  arm.  and 
pulled  him  toward  the  table. 

"  Now  look  here,  No  Lusacho," 
he  said  to  him  curtly,  "  I  intend  to 
pass  two  hours  in  your  hovel,  at  all 
risks ;  I  know  that  between  this  and 
eleven  o'clock  you  expect  a  large 
party,  and  that  all  is  prepared  to  re 
ceive  them." 

The  landlord  attempted  to  give  a 
denial,  but  the  traveller  cut  him 
short. 

"  Silence,"  he  continued,  "  I  wish 
to  be  present  at  the  meeting  of  these 
persons;  of  course  I  do  not  mean 
them  to  see  me;  but  I  must  not  only 
see  them,  but  hear  all  they  say. 
Put  me  where  you  please,  that  is 
your*  concern  ;  but  as  any  trouble 
deserves  payment,  here  are  ten 
ounces  for  you,  and  I  will  give  you 


as  many  more  when  your  visitors 
are  gone,  and  I  assure  you  that  what 
I  ask  of  you  will  not  in  any  way 
compromise  you,  and  that  no  one 
will  ever  know  the  bargain  made 
between  us — you  understand  me,  I 
suppose  ?  Now  I  will  add,  that  if 
you  obstinately  refuse  the  arrange 
ment  I  offer " 

"  Well,  suppose  I  do  ?" 

"  I  will  blow  out  your  brains," 
the  traveller  said  distinctly;  "my 
friend  here  will  put  you  on  his 
shoulder,  throw  you  into  the  water, 
and  all  will  be  over.  What  do  you 
think  of  my  proposal  ?" 

"Hang  it,  excellency,"  the  poor 
fellow  answered  with  a  grimace 
which  attempted  to  resemble  a  srnile, 
and  trembling  in  all  his  limbs,  "I 
think  that  I  have  no  choice,  and  am 
compelled  to  accept." 

"  Good !  now  you  are  learning 
reason ;  but  take  these  ounces  as  a 
consolation." 

The  landlord  pocketed  the  money, 
as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and 
gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"Fear  nothing,  viva  DIGS!"  the 
traveller  continued,  "all  will  pass 
off  better  than  you  suppose.  At 
what  hour  do  you  expect  your  visit 
ors  ?" 

"  At  half-past  ten,  excellency." 

"  Good !  it  is  half-past  nine,  we 
have  time  before  us.  Where  do  you 
propose  to  hide  us  ?" 

"  In  this  room,  excellency." 

"  Here,  diabolo ;  whereabouts  ? 

"Behind  the  bar;  no  one  will 
dream  of  looking  for  you  there,  and, 
besides,  I  shall  serve  as  a  rampart  to 
you." 

"Then  you  will  be  present  at  the 
meeting?" 

"Oh!"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "I 
am  nobody ;  the  more  so,  that  if  I 
spoke,  my  house  would  be  ruined." 

"  That  is  true.  Well,  then,  all  is 
settled ;  when  the  hour  arrives,  you 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


67 


will  place  us  behind  the  bar;  but 
can  my  companion  and  I  sit  there 
with  any  degree  of  comfort  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  will  have  plenty  of 
room." 

"  I  fancy  this  is  not  the  first  time 
such  a  thing  has  occurred,  eh  ?" 

The  landlord  smiled,  but  made  no 
answer :  the  traveller  reflected  for  a 
moment. 

"  Give  us  something  to  eat,"  he  at 
length  said ;  "  here  are  two  piastres 
in  addition  for  what  you  are  going 
to  place  before  us." 

The  landlord  took  the  money,  and 
forgetting  that  he  had  declared  a  few 
moments  previously  that  he  had 
nothing  in  the  house,  he  instantly 
covered  the  table  with  provisions, 
which,  if  not  particularly  delicate, 
were,  however,  sufficiently  appetiz 
ing,  especially  for  men  whose  appe 
tite  appeared  to  be  powerfully  ex 
cited. 

The  two  travellers  vigorously  at 
tacked  this  improvised  supper,  and- 
for  about  twenty  minutes  no  other 
sound  was  heard  but  that  of  their 
jaws.  When  their  hunger  was  at 
length  appeased,  the  traveller  who 
seemed  to  speak  for  both,  thrust 
away  his  plate,  and  addressed  the 
landlord,  who  was  modestly  stand 
ing  behind  him  hat  in  hand. 

"And  now  for  another  matter," 
he  said ;  "  how  many  lads  have  you 
to  help  you?" 

"  Two,  excellency — the  one  who 
took  your  horses  to  the  corral,  and 
another." 

"  Very  good.  I  presume  you  will 
not  require  both  those  lads  to  wait 
on  your  friends  to-night  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  excellency ;  in 
deed,  for  greater  security  I  shall 
wait  on  them  alone." 

"  Better  still ;  then  you  see  no  in 
convenience  in  sending  one  of  them 
into  the  Ciudad;  of  course  on  the 


understanding  that  he  is  well  paid 
for  the  trip  ?" 

"No  inconvenience  at  all,  excel 
lency  ;  what  is  the  business  ?" 

"  Simply,"  he  said,  taking  a  letter 
from  his  bosom,  uto  convey  this 
letter  to  Senor  Don  Antonio  Rallier, 
in  the  Calle  Secunda  Monterilla,  and 
bring  me  back  the  answer  in  the 
shortest  possible  period  to  this 
house." 

"That  is  easy,  excellency;  if  you 
will  have  the  kindness  to  intrust  the 
letter  to  me." 

"  Here  it  is,  and  four  piastres  for 
the  journey." 

The  host  bowed  respectfully,  and 
immediately  left  the  room. 

"I  fancy,  Curumilla,"  the  travel 
ler  then  said  to  his  companion,  "that 
our  affairs  are  going  on  well." 

The  other  replied  by  a  silent  nod 
of  assent,  and  within  a  moment  the 
landlord  returned. 

"  Well  ?"  the  traveller  asked. 

"  Your  messenger  has  set  off,  ex 
cellency,  but  he  will  probably  be 
some  time  ere  he  returns." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  Because  people  are  not  allowed 
to  ride  about  the  city  at  night  with 
out  a  special  authority,  and  he  will 
be  obliged  to  go  and  return  on 
foot." 

"No  consequence,  so  long  as  he 
returns  before  sunrise." 

"  Oh,  long  before  then,  excel 
lency." 

"  In  that  case  all  is  for  the  best ; 
but  I  think  the  moment  is  at  hand 
when  your  friends  will  arrive." 

"  It  is,  excellency,  so  have  the 
kindness  to  follow  me." 

"All  right." 

The  travellers  rose;  in  a  twinkling 
the  landlord  removed  all  signs  of 
supper,  and  then  hid  his  guests  be 
hind  the  bar.  This  bar,  which  was 
very  tall  and  deep,  offered  them  a 


68 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


perfectly  secure,  if  not  convenient, 
hiding-place,  in  which  they  crouched 
down  with  a  pistol  in  each  hand,  in 
order  to  be  ready  for  any  event. 
They  had  scarce  installed  them 
selves  ere  several  knocks,  dealt  in 
a  peculiar  fashion,  were  heard  on 
the  outer  door. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

THE   RANCHO. 

Iisr  one  of  our  previous  works  we 
proved  by  documentary  evidence 
that,  since  the  declaration  of  its  in 
dependence,  that  is  to  say,  in  about 
forty  years,  Mexico  has  reached  its 
two  hundred  and  thirtieth  revo 
lution,  which  gives  an  average  of 
about  five  revolutions  a  year.  In 
our  opinion,  this  is  very  decent  for 
a  country  which,  if  it  pleased,  regard 
being  had  to  the  retrograde  mea 
sures  adopted  by  the  government, 
would  have  been  justified  in  having 
at  least  one  a  month. 

The  causes  of  these  revolutions 
are  and  must  be  ever  the  same  in  a 
country  where  the  sabre  rules  with 
out  control,  and  which  counts  twenty- 
four  thousand  officers  for  an  army 
of  twenty  thousand  men.  These 
officers,  very  ignorant  generally,  and 
very  ambitious  individually,  incapa 
ble  of  executing  the  slightest  man 
oeuvre,  or  commanding  the  most 
simple  movement,  find  in  the  gen 
eral  disorder  chances  of  promotion 
which  they  would  not  otherwise 
have,  and  many  Mexican  generals 
have  attained  their  elevated  rank 
without  having  once  been  present  at 
a  battle,  or  even  seen  any  other  fire 
than  that  of  the  cigarettes  they  con 


stantly  have  in  their  mouths.  The 
real  truth  is,  they  have  skilfully  pro 
nounced  themselves;  each  pronun- 
ciamiento  has  gained  them  a  step, 
sometimes  two,  and  with  pronuncia- 
miento  after  pronunciamieuto,  they 
have  acquired  the  general's  scarf, 
that  is  to  say,  the  probability,  with 
the  aid  of  luck,  of  being  in  their 
turn  proclaimed  President  of  the 
Republic,  which  is  the  dream  of  all 
of  them,  and  the  constant  object  of 
their  efforts. 

We  have  said  that  the  travellers 
had  scarce  time  to  conceal  them 
selves  in  the  bar,  ere  several  knocks 
on  the  door  warned  the  landlord  that 
the  mysterious  guests  he  expected 
were  beginning  to  arrive. 

No  Lusacho  was  a  fat  little  man, 
with  constantly-rolling  gray  eyes, 
a  cunning  look,  and  a  prominent 
stomach — the  true  type  of  the  Mexi 
can  Ranchero,  who  is  more  eager 
for  gain  than  two  Jews,  and  very 
ready  when  circumstances  demand 
it — that  is  to  say,  when  his  own  in 
terests  are  concerned — to  make  a 
bargain  with  his  conscience.  lie 
assured  himself  by  a  glance  that  all 
was  in  order  in  the  room,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  to  cause  the 
presence  of  strangers  to  be  suspected, 
and  then  walked  to  the  door ;  but, 
before  opening,  with  the  probable 
intention  of  displaying  his  zeal,  he 
thought  it  advisable  to  challenge  the 
arrivals. 

"  Quien  vive  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Gente  de  paz !"  a  rough  voice 
answered;  "open  in  the  Fiend's 
name,  if  you  do  not  wish  us  to  break 
in  your  door." 

No  Lusacho  doubtless  recognized 
the  voice,  for  the  somewhat  brusque 
response  appeared  to  him  sufficient, 
and  he  immediately  prepared  to 
draw  back  the  bolts. 

The   door   was   hardly   ajar    ere 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


69 


several  men  burst  into  the  inn, 
thrusting  each  other  aside  in  their 
haste,  as  if  afraid  of  being  followed. 
These  men  were  seven  or  eight  in 
number;  and  it  was  easy  to  see  they 
were  officers,  in  spite  of  the  precau 
tion  of  some  among  them  who  had 
put  on  civilian  attire. 

They  laughed  and  jested  loudly, 
which  proved  that,  if  they  were  con 
spirators,  or,  at  least,  if  they  were 
brought  to  this  ill-famed  den  by 
any  illicit  object,  that  object,  what 
ever  it  might  be,  did  not  spoil  their 
gayety  or  appear  to  them  of  suffi 
cient  importance  to  render  them 
unwontedly  serious. 

They  seated  themselves  at  a  table, 
and  the  landlord  who  had  doubtless 
long  been  acquainted  with  their 
habits,  placed  before  them  a  bottle 
of  Catalonian  refino  and  a  jug  of 
pulque,  which  they  straightway  be- 
ga'n  swallowing  while  rolling  their 
cigarettes. 

The  door  of  the  rancho  had  been 
left  ajar  by  the  landlord,  who  prob 
ably  thought  it  unnecessary  to  close 
it;  the  officers  succeeded  each  other 
with  great  rapidity,  and  their  num 
ber  soon  became  so  great,  that  the 
room,  though  very  spacious,  was 
completely  filled.  The  new-comers 
followed  the  example  of  those  who 
had  preceded  them;  they  seated 
themselves  at  a  table,  and  began 
drinking  and  smoking,  not  appear 
ing  to  trouble  themselves  about  the 
earlier  comers,  to  whom  they  merely 
bowed  as  they  entered. 

As  for  No  Lusacho,  he  continually 
prowled  round  the  tables,  watching 
every  thing  with  a  corner  of  his 
eyes,  and  being  careful  not  to  serve 
the  slightest  article  without  receiving 
immediate  payment.  At  length  one 
of  the  officers  rose,  and,  after  rap 
ping  his  glass  on  the  table  several 
times  to  attract  attention,  he  asked: 
Is  Don  Sirven  here  ?" 


"Yes,  senor,"  a  young  man  of 
twenty  at  the  most  answered  as  he 
rose.  His  effeminate  features  were 
already  worn  by  precocious  debauch 
ery. 

"Assure  yourself  that  no  person 
is  absent." 

The  young  man  bowed,  and  be 
gan  walking  from'  one  table  to  the 
other,  exchanging  two  or  three 
words  in  a  low  voice  with  each  of 
the  visitors.  When  Don  Sirven 
had  gone  round  the  room,  he  went 
to  the  person  who  had  addressed 
him,  and  said,  with  a  respectful 
bow — 

"Senor  coronel,  the  meeting  is 
complete,  and  only  one  person  is 
absent;  but  as  he  did  not  tell  us 
certainly  whether  he  would  do  us 

the  honor  of  being  present  to-night, 
j " 

"  That  will  do,  alferez,"  the  colonel 
interrupted  him;  "remain  outside 
the  house,  carefully  watch  the  en 
virons,  and  let  no  one  approach 
without  challenging  him,  but  if  you 
know  who  arrives,  introduce  him 
immediately.  You  have  heard  me: 
so  execute  my  orders  punctually; 
you  understand  the  importance  of 
passive  obedience  for  yourself." 

"You  can  trust  to  me,  coronel," 
the  young  man  answered;  and,  after 
bowing  to  his  superior  officer,  he 
left  the  room  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

The  officers,  then,  without  getting 
up,  turned  round  on  the  benches, 
and  thus  found  themselves  face  to 
face  with  the  colonel,  who  had  sta 
tioned  himself  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  The  latter  waited  a  few 
minutes  till  perfect  silence  was  estab 
lished,  and  then,  after  bowing  to  the 
audience,  he  spoke  as  follows: 

"Let  me,  in  the  first  place,  thank 
you,  caballeros,  for  the  punctuality 
with  which  you  have  responded  to 
the  meeting  I  had  the  honor  of  ar- 


70 


THE     BED     TRACK. 


ranging  with  you.  I  am  delighted 
at  the  confidence  it  has  pleased  you 
to  display  in  me,  and,  believe  me,  I 
shall  show  myself  worthy  of  it;  for 
it  proves  to  me  once  again  that  you 
are  really  devoted  to  the  interests  of 
our  country,  and  that  it  may  freely 
reckon  on  you  in  the  hour  of  dan- 
ger." 

This  first  portion  of  the  colonel's 
speech  was  drowned  in  applause,  as 
was  only  fitting.  This  colonel  was 
a  man  of  about  forty  years  of  age, 
of  herculean  stature,  and  looking 
more  like  a  butcher  than  an  honest 
soldier.  His  cunning  looks  did  not 
at  all  inspire  confidence,  and  every 
step  in  his  profession  had  been  the 
reward  of  an  act  of  treachery.  He 
was  a  most  valuable  man  in  a  con 
spiracy  on  this  account:  for  being 
so  old  a  hand  at  pronunciamientos, 
people  knew  that  he  was  too  clever 
to  join  a  losing  cause;  hence,  he  in 
spired  his  accomplices  with  unlimit 
ed  confidence.  After  allowing  time 
for  the  enthusiasm  to  calm,  he  con 
tinued — 

"I  am  pleased,  senors,  not  at  this 
applause,  but  at  the  devotion  you  so 
constantly  display  for  the  public 
welfare.  You  understand  as  well 
as  I  do  that  we  can  no  longer  bow 
our  necks  beneath  the  despotic  gov 
ernment  that  tyrannizes  over  us. 
The  man  who  at  this  moment  holds 
our  destinies  in  his  hands  has  shown 
himself  unworthy  of  the  mandate 
we  confided  to  him;  by  failing  in 
his  duties  toward  us,  he  has  liberated 
us  from  the  oath  of  obedience  we 
took  to  him.  Human  patience  has 
its  limits,  and  the  hour  will  soon 
strike  for  the  man  who  has  deceived 
us  to  be  overthrown." 

The  colonel  had  made  a  start,  and 
would  probably  have  continued  his 
plausible  speech  for  a  long  time  in  an 
emphatic  voice,  had  not  one  of  his 
audience,  evidently  wearied  of  find 


ing  nothing  positive  or  clear  in  this 
flood  of  sounding  words,  suddenly 
interrupted  him — 

"That  is  all  very  fine,  colonel," 
he  said,  "Rayo  de  jbios  !  we  are  all 
aware  that  we  are  gentlemen  de 
voted,  body  and  soul,  to  our  coun 
try  ;  but  devotion  must  be  paid  for, 
cuerj)0  de  Oristol  What  shall  we 
get  by  all  this  after  all?  We  have 
not  assembled  here  to  compliment 
each  other ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  to 
come  to  a  definite  understanding. 
So  pray  come  to  the  point  at  once." 

The  colonel  was  at  first  slightly 
embarrassed  by  this  warm  apostro 
phe;  but  he  recovered  himself  at 
once,  and  turned  with  a  smile  to  his 
interpreter — 

"I  was  coming  to  it,  my  dear 
captain,  at  the  very  moment  when 
you  cut  across  my  speech." 

"  Oh,  that  is  different,"  the  captain 
answered ;  "  pray  suppose  that  I  had 
not  spoken,  and  explain  the  affair  in 
a  couple  of  words." 

"In  the  first  place,"  the  colonel 
went  on,  "I  have  news  for  you  which 
I  feel  assured  you  will  heartily  wel 
come.  This  is  the  last  time  we  shall 
meet." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  practical 
captain,  encouraged  by  the  winks  of 
his  companions,  "let  us  hear  first 
what  the  reward  is." 

The  colonel  saw  that  he  could  no 
longer  dally  with  the  matter,  for  all 
his  hearers  openly  took  part  with 
their  comrade,  and  murmurs  of  evil 
augury  were  beginning  to  be  audi 
ble.  At  the  moment  when  he  re 
solved  to  tell  all  he  knew,  the  door 
of  the  inn  was  opened,  and  a  man 
wrapped  in  a  large  cloak  quickly 
entered  the  room,  preceded  by  the 
alferez  Don  Sirven,  who  shouted  in 
a  loud  voice  — 

"The  general.  Caballeros,  the 
general." 

At  this  announcement  silence  was 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


71 


re-established  as  if  by  enchantment. 
The  person  called  the  general  stop 
ped  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
looked  around  him,  and  then  took 
off  his  hat,  let  his  cloak  fall  from 
his  shoulders,  and  appeared  in  the 
full-dress  uniform  of  a  general 
officer. 

"  Long  live  General  Guerrero  !" 
the  officers  shouted,  as  they  rose  en 
thusiastically. 

"  Thanks,  gentlemen,  thanks,"  the 
general  responded  with  numerous 
bows.  "This  warm  feeling  fills  me 
with  delight;  but  pray  be  silent, 
that  we  may  properly  settle  the 
matter  which  has  brought  us  here  ; 
moments  are  precious,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  precautions  we  have  taken, 
our  presence  at  this  inn  may  have 
been  denounced." 

All  collected  round  the  general 
with  a  movement  of  interest  easy  to 
understand.  The  latter  continued — 

"I  will  come  at  once  to  facts,"  he 
said,  "  without  entering  into  idle 
speculations,  which  would  cause  us 
to  waste  valuable  time.  In  a  word, 
then,  what  is  it  we  want  ?  To  over 
throw  the  present  government  and 
establish  another  more  in  conformity 
with  our  opinions  and,  above  all, 
our  interests." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  officers  exclaimed. 

"  In  that  case  we  are  conspiring 
against  the  established  authority, 
and  are  rebels  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law,"  the  general  continued  coolly 
and  distinctly ;  "  as  such,  we  stake 
our  head?,  and  must  not  attempt  any 
self-  k-ocption  on  this  point.  If  our 
Juiompt  fails,  we  shall  be  pitilessly 
shot  by  the  victor ;  but  we  shall  not 
fail,"  he  hastily  added,  on  noticing 
the  impression  these  ill-omened 
words  produced  on  his  hearers ;  "  we 
shall  not  fail,  because  we  are  reso 
lutely  playing  a  terrible  game,  and 
each  of  us  knows  that  his  fortune 
depends  on  winning  the  game.  From 


the  alferez  up  to  the  brigadier- 
general  each  knows  that  success  will 
gain  him  two  steps  of  promotion, 
and  such  a  stake  is  sufficient  to  de 
termine  the  least  resolute  to  be 
staunch  when  the  moment  arrives 
to  begin  the  struggle." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  captain,  whose  ob 
servations  had,  previous  to  the 
general's  arrival,  so  greatly  embar 
rassed  the  colonel,  said,  "all  that  is 
very  fine.  Jumping  up  two  steps  is 
a  most  agreeable  thing ;  but  we  were 
promised  something  else  in  your 
name,  excellency." 

The  general  smiled, 

"  You  are  right,  captain,"  he  re 
marked  ;  "and  I  intend  to  keep  all 
promises  made  in  my  name — but 
not,  as  you  might  reasonably  sup 
pose,  when  our  glorious  enterprise 
has  succeeded.  If  I  waited  till  then, 
you  might  fear  lest  I  should  seek 
pretexts  and  excuses  to  evade  their 
performance." 

"  When  then,  pray  ?"  the  captain 
asked,  curiously. 

"At  once,  senores,"  the  general 
exclaimed,  in  a  loud  voice,  and,  ad 
dressing  the  whole  company,  "  I 
wish  to  prove  to  you  that  my  con 
fidence  in  you  is  entire,  and  that  I 
put  faith  in  the  word  you  pledged 
to  me." 

Joy,  astonishment,  incredulity, 
perhaps,  so  paralyzed  his  hearers, 
that  they  were  unable  to  utter  a 
syllable.  The  general  examined 
them  for  a  moment,  and  then,  turn 
ing  away  with  a  mocking  smile,  he 
walked  to  the  front  door,  which  he 
opened.  The  officers  eagerly  watched 
his  movements,  with  panting  chests, 
and  the  general,  after  looking  out, 
coughed  twice. 

"  Here  I  am,  excellency,"  a  voice 
said,  issuing  from  the  fog. 

"Bring  in  the  bags,"  Don  Sebas 
tian  ordered,  and  then  quietly  re 
turned  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 


THE     KED     TRACK. 


Almost  immediately  after  a  man 
entered,  bearing  a  heavy  leather 
saddle-bag.  It  was  Carnero,  the 
capataz.  At  a  signal  from  his  mas 
ter,  he  deposited  his  bundle  and 
went  out ;  but  returned  shortly  after 
with  another  bag,  which  he  placed 
by  the  side  of  the  first  one.  Then, 
after  bowing  to  his  master,  he  with 
drew,  and  the  door  closed  upon  him. 

The  general  opened  the  bags,  and 
a  flood  of  gold  poured  in  a  trickling 
cascade  on  the  table;  the  officers 
instinctively  bent  forward,  and  held 
out  their  quivering  hands. 

"Now,  senores,"  the  general  said, 
still  perfectly  calm,  as  he  carelessly 
rested  his  arm  on  the  pile  of  gold ; 
"  permit  me  to  remind  you  of  our 
agreement ;  there  are  thirty-live  of 
us  at  present,  I  believe  ?" 

"Yes,  general,  thirty-five,"  the 
captain  replied,  who  seemed  to  have 
appointed  himself  speaker  in  ordi 
nary  for  self  and  partners. 

"  Very  good ;  these  thirty-five 
oaballeros  are  thus  sub-divided  : — 
ten  alferez,  who  will  each  receive 
twenty-five  ounces  of  silver.  Senor 
Don  Jaime  Lupo,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  colonel,  "will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  baud  twenty-five  ounces 
to  each  of  these  gentlemen  ?" 

The  alferez,  or  sub-lieutenants, 
broke  through  the  ranks,  and  boldly 
"came  up  to  receive  their  ounces, 
which  the  colonel  delivered  to  each 
of  them ;  then  they  fell  back  with 
a  delight  they  did  not  attempt  to 
conceal. 

"Now,"  the  general  continued, 
"  twelve  captains,  to  each  of  whom 
I  wish  you  to  offer,  on  my  behalf,  Don 
Lupo,  fifty  ounces." 

The  captains  pocketed  the  money 
with  no  more  ceremony  than  the 
alferez  had  displayed. 

"  We  have  ten  tenientes,  each  of 
whom  is  to  receive  thirty-five 
ounces  I  believe?" 


The  tenientes,  or  lieutenants,  who 
had  began  to  frown  on  seeing  the 
captains  paid  before  them,  received 
their  money  with  a  bow. 

"  There  now  remain  the  colonels, 
each  of  whom  has  a  claim  to  one 
hundred  ounces,"  the  general  said ; 
"be  kind  enough  to  pay  them,  my 
dear  colonel." 

The  latter  did  not  let  the  invita 
tion  be  repeated  twice.  Still  the  en 
tire  pile  of  gold  was  not  exhausted, 
and  a  considerable  sum  still  re 
mained  on  the  table.  Don  Sebastian 
Guerrero  passed  his  hands  several 
times  through  the  glittering  metal, 
and  at  length  thrust  it  from  him. 

"  Senores,"  he  said,  with  an  engag 
ing  smile,  "about five  hundred  ounces 
remain,  which  I  do  not  know 
what  to  do  with  ;  may  I  ask  you  to 
divide  them  among  you,  as  subsist 
ence  money  while  awaiting  the  sig 
nal  you  are  to  receive  from  me.1' 

At  this  truly  regal  act  of  munifi 
cence,  the  enthusiasm  attained  its 
highest  pitch  ;  the  cries  and  pro 
testations  of  devotion  became  fren 
zied.  The  general  alone  remained 
impassive,  and  looked  coldly  at  the 
division  made  by  the  colonel. 

When  all  -the  gold  had  disap 
peared,  and  the  effervescence  was 
beginning  to  subside,  Don  Sebastian, 
who,  like  the  Angel  of  Evil,  had 
looked  with  a  profoundly  mocking 
smile  at  these  men  so  utterly  under 
the  influence  of  cupidity,  slightly 
tapped  the  table,  to  request  silence. 

"  Senores,"  he  said,  "  I  have  kept 
all  my  promises,  and  have  acquired 
the  right  to  count  on  you  ;  we  shall 
not  meet  again,  but  at  a  future  day 
I  will  let  you  know  my  intentions. 
Still  be  ready  to  act  at  the  first 
signal ;  in  ten  days  is  the  anniver 
sary  festival  of  the  Proclamation 
of  Independence,  and,  if  nothing 
deranges  my  plans,  I  shall  probably 
choose  that  day  to  try,  with  your 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


73 


assistance,  to  deliver  the  country 
from  the  tyrants  who  oppress  it. 
However,  I  will  be  careful  to  have 
you  warned.  So  now  let  us  sep 
arate;  the  night  is  far  advanced, 
and  a  longer  stay  at  this  spot 
might  compromise  the  sacred  in 
terests  for  which  we  have  sworn  to 
die." 

He  bowed  to  the  conspirators,  but, 
on  reaching  the  door,  turned  round 
again. 

"Farewell,  senors,"  he  said,  "be 
faithful  to  me." 

"  We  will  die  for  you,  general," 
Colonel  Lupo  answered,  in  the 
name  of  all. 

The  general  gave  a  final  bow  and 
went  out;  almost  immediately  the 
hoofs  of  several  horses  could  be 
heard  echoing  on  the  paved  street. 

"As  we  have  nothing  more  to  do 
here,  caballeros,"  the  colonel  said, 
"  we  had  better  separate  without 
further  delay  ;  but  do  not  forget  the 
general's  parting  recommendation." 
"Oh,  no,"  the  captain  said,  glee 
fully  rattling  the  gold,  with  which 
his  pockets  were  filled.  "  Don  Se 
bastian  Guerrero  is  too  generous 
for  us  not  to  be  faithful  to  him  ;  be 
sides,  he  appears  to  me  at  the  present 
moment  the  only  man  capable  oi 
saving  our  unhappy  country  from 
the  abyss.  We  are  all  too  deeply 
attached  to  our  country  and  too 
devoted  to  its  real  interests,  not  to 
sacrifice  ourselves  for  it,  when  cir 
cumstances  demand  it." 

The  conspirators  laughingly  ap 
plauded  this  speech  of  the  captain's, 
and  after  exchanging  courteous 
bows,  they  withdrew  as  they  had 
come ;  that  is  to  say,  they  left  the 
inn  one  after  the  other,  not  to  at 
tract  attention.  They  carefully 
wrapped  themselves  in  their  cloaks, 
and  went  off'  in  parties  of  three  and 
four,  with  their  hands  on  their 


weapons,  for  fear  of  any  unpleasant 
encounter. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the 
room  was  empty,  and  the  landlord 
bolted  the  door  for  the  night. 

"Well,  senores,"  he  asked  the 
two  strangers,  who  now  left  the 
hiding-place  in  which  they  had  been 
crouching  for  upwards  of  two  hours, 
"  are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"  We  could  not  be  more  so,"  re 
plied  the  one  who  had  been  the  sole 
speaker  hitherto. 

"Yes,  yes,"  the  landlord  con 
tinued,  "three  or  four  more  pro- 
nunciamientos,  and  I  believe  I  shall 
be  able  to  retire  on  a  decent  com 
petency." 

"  That  is  what  I  wish  you,  No 
Lusacho,  and,  to  begin,  a  thing 
promised  is  a  thing  done ;  here  are 
your  ten  ounces." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  PASEO   DE   BUCARELLI. 

MEXICO  is  a  country  of  extensive 
prospects  and  magnificent  views ; 
and  the  poet  Carpio  is .  right  when 
he  says  enthusiastically,  in  the  poem 
in  which  he  sings  the  praises  of  his 
country — 

"  Que  magnificos  tienes  horisontes  I" 

In  truth,  the  prospect  is  the  first 
and  greatest  beauty  of  Mexico. 

The  plateau  of  Mexico  is  situated 
exactly  in  the  centre  of  a  circle  of 
mountains.  On  all  sides  the  land 
scape  is  bounded  by  admirable 
peaks,  whose  snowy  crests  soar 
above  the  clouds,  and  in  the  golden 
beams  of  the  setting  sun  they  offer 
the  most  sublime  pictures  of  the 
imposing  and  grand  Alpine  nature. 


74 


THE     EED     TRACK. 


In  the  general  description  we  at 
tempted  of  Mexico  we  omitted  to 
allude  to  its  promenades,  of  which 
we  intended  previously  to  give  a 
detailed  account. 

In  Europe,  and  especially  in 
France,  promenades  are  wanting  in 
the  interior  of  towns ;  and  it  is  only 
during  the  last  few  years  that  Paris 
has  possessed  any  worthy  of  a  capi 
tal.  In  Spain,  on  the  contrary,  the 
smallest  market-town  has  at  least 
one  alameda,  where,  after  the  torrid 
heat  of  the  day,  the  inhabitants 
breathe  the  evening  breeze,  and  rest 
from  their  labors.  Alameda,  a  soft 
and  graceful  word  to  pronounce, 
which  we  might  be  tempted  to  take 
for  Arabic,  and  to  which  some  ill- 
informed  scholars,  unacquainted  with 
Spanish,  attribute  a  Latin  origin, 
while  it  is  simply  Castilian,  and  lit 
erally  signifies  "a  place  planted  with 
poplars." 

The  Alameda  of  Mexico  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  in  America.  It 
is  situated  at  one  of  the  extremities  of 
the  city,  and  forms  a  long  square  with 
a  wall  of  circumvallation  bordered  by 
a  deep  ditch,  whose  muddy,  fetid 
waters,  owing  to  the  negligence  of  the 
government,  exhale  pestilential  mias 
mas.  At  each  corner  of  the  prome 
nade  a  gate  offers  admission  to  car 
riages,  riders  and  pedestrians,  who 
walk  silently  beneath  a  thick  awn 
ing  of  verdure,  formed  by  willows, 
elms,  and  poplars  that  border  the 
principal  road.  These  trees  are  se 
lected  with  great  tact,  and  are  al 
ways  green,  for  although  the  leaves 
are  renewed,  it  takes  place  gradually 
and  imperceptibly,  so  that  the 
branches  are  never  entirely  stripped 
of  their  foliage. 

Numerous  walks  converge  to  open 
spots  adorned  with  gushing  foun 
tains,  and  clumps  of  jessamine,  myr 
tle  and  rose-bushes,  surrounded  by 
stone  benches  for  the  tired  prome- 


naders.  Statues,  unfortunately  far 
below  mediocrity  in  their  execution, 
stand  at  the  entrance  of  each  walk ; 
but,  thanks  to  the  deep  shadow,  the 
whistling  of  the  evening  breeze  in 
the  deep  foliage,  the  buzz  of  the  hum 
ming-birds  flying  from  flower  to 
flower,  and  the  harmonious  strains 
of  the  centzontles  hidden  in  the  fra 
grant  clumps,  you  gradually  forget 
those  unlucky  statues,  and  fall  into 
a  gentle  reverie,  during  which  the 
mind  is  borne  to  unknown  regions, 
and  seems  no  longer  connected  with 
earth. 

But  Mexico  is  a  thorough  country 
of  contrasts.  At  each  step  barba 
rism  elbows  the  most  advanced  civi 
lization.  Hence  all  the  carriages,  af 
ter  driving  a  few  times  round  the  Al 
ameda,  take  the  direction  of  the  Pas- 
eo  de  Bucarelli,  and  the  promenaders 
spread  over  a  walk,  in  the  centre  of 
which  there  is  a  large  window  in  the 
wall,  protected  by  rusty  iron  bars, 
and  through  which  come  puffs  of 
poisoned  air.  It  is  the  window  of 
the  Dead-house,  into  which  are  daily- 
thrown  pellmell  the  bodies  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  assassinated 
during  the  previous  night,  hideous, 
bloody,  and  disfigured  by  death! 
What  a  brilliant,  what  a  delicious 
idea  to  have  placed  the  Dead-house 
exactly  between  the  two  city  walks ! 

The  Paseo,  or  promenade,  of  Bu 
carelli — so  called  after  the  Viceroy 
who  gave  it  to  Mexico — resembles 
the  Champs  Elysees  of  Paris.  It  is, 
in  reality,  merely  a  wide  road,  with 
no  other  ornament  than  a  double 
row  of  willow  and  beech  trees,  with 
two  circular  places,  in  the  centre  of 
which  are  fountains,  adorned  with 
detestable  allegorical  statues  and 
stone  benches  for  pedestrians. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  Paseo  de 
Bucarelli  has  been  placed  an  eques 
trian  statue  of  Charles  IV.,  which 
in  1824  adorned  the  Plaza  Mayor 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


75 


of  Mexico.  "When  the  Emperor 
Iturbide  fell,  this  monument  was  re 
moved  from  the  square  and  placed 
in  the  University  Palace-yard — a 
lesson,  we  may  here  remark,  given 
by  a  comparatively  barbarous  peo 
ple  to  civilized  nations,  who  in  rev 
olutions,  as  a  first  trial  of  liberty, 
and  forgetting  that  history  records 
every  thing  in  her  imperishable  an 
nals,  carry  their  Vandalism  so  far 
as  to  destroy  every  thing  that  recalls 
the  government  they  have  over 
thrown.  Owing  to  the  intelligent 
moderation  of  the  Mexicans,  the 
promenaders  can  still  admire,  at  the 
Bucarelli,  this  really  remarkable 
statue,  due  to  the  talent  of  the 
Spanish  sculptor,  Manuel  Tolsa, 
and  cast  in  one  piece  by  Salvador 
de  la  Vega.  The  sight  of  this  mas 
terpiece  ought  to  induce  the  Mexi 
can  municipality  to  remove  the 
pitiable  statues  which  disgrace  the 
two  finest  promenades  in  the  city. 

From  the  Paseo  de  Bucarelli  a 
magnificent  prospect  is  enjoyed  of 
the  panorama  of  mountains  bathed 
in  the  luminous  vapors  of  night; 
you  perceive  through  the  arches  of 
the  gigantic  acqueduct  the  white 
fronts  of  the  haciendas  clinging  to 
the  sides  of  the  Sierra,  the  fields  of 
Indian  corn  bending  softly  before 
the  breeze,  and  the  snowy  peaks  of 
the  volcanoes,  crowned  with  mist, 
and  lost  in  the  sky. 

It  is  not  till  night  has  almost  set 
in  that  the  promenaders,  leaving  the 
Alameda,  proceed  to  the  Bucarelii, 
where  the  carriages  take  two  or 
three  turns,  and  then  equipages, 
riders,  and  pedestrians,  retire  one 
after  the  other.  The  promenade  is 
deserted,  the  entire  crowd,  just  now 
so  gay  and  noisy,  has  disappeared 
as  if  by  enchantment,  and  you  only 
see  between  the  trees  some  belated 
promenader,  who,  wrapped  in  his 
cloak,  and  with  eye  and  ear  on  the 


watch,  is  hastily  returning  home, 
for,  after  nightfall,  the  thieves  take 
possession  of  the  promenade,  and 
without  the  slightest  anxiety  about 
the  serenos  and  celadores  appointed 
to  watch  over  the  public  security, 
they  carry  on  their  trade  with  a 
boldness  which  the  certainty  of  im 
punity  can  alone  engender. 

It  was  evening,  and,  as  usual,  the 
Alameda  was  crowded ;  handsome 
carriages,  brilliant  riders,  and  modest 
pedestrians  were  moving  backwards 
and  forwards,  with  cries,  laughter, 
and  joyous  calls,  as  they  sought  or 
chased  each  other  in  the  walks. 
Monks,  soldiers,  officers,  men  of 
fashion,  and  leperos,  were  mixed 
together,  carelessly  smoking  their 
cigars  and  cigarettes  under  each 
other's  noses,  with  the  recklessness 
and  negligence  peculiar  to  southern 
nations. 

Suddenly,  the  first  stroke  of  the 
Oracion  broke  through  the  air.  At 
the  sound  of  the  Angelus-bell,  as 
if  the  entire  crowd  had  been  struck 
by  an  enchanter's  wand,  horses, 
carriages,  and  pedestrians  stopped, 
the  seated  citizens  left  the  benches 
on  which  they  were  resting,  and  a 
solemn  silence  fell  on  all;  every 
person  took  off  his  hat,  crossed 
himself,  and  for  four  or  five 
minutes  this  crowd,  an  instant  be 
fore  so  noisy,  remained  dumb  and 
silent.  But  the  last  stroke  of  the 
Oracion  had  scarce  died  away,  ere 
horses  and  carriages  set  out  again; 
the  shouts,  the  songs,  and  talking,  be 
came  louder  than  before ;  each  re 
sumed  the  sentence  at  the  point 
where  he  had  broken  it  oft'. 

By  degrees,  however,  the  prom 
enaders  proceeded  toward  the  Bu 
carelli  ;  the  carriages  became  scarcer, 
and  by  the  time  night  had  quite  set 
in,  the  Alameda  was  completely 
deserted. 

A  horseman,   dressed  in  a  rich 


76 


THE     BED     TRACK. 


Campesino  costume,  and  mounted 
oil  a  magnificent  horse,  which  he 
managed  with  rare  skill,  then  en 
tered  the  Alameda,  along  which  he 
galloped  for  about  twenty  minutes, 
examining  the  sidewalks,  the  clumps 
of  trees,  and  the  densest  bushes : 
in.  a  word,  he  seemed  to  be  looking 
for  somebody  or  something. 

However,  after  a  while,  whether 
he  had  convinced  himself  that  his 
search  would  have  no  result,  or  for 
some  other  motive,  he  gave  the 
click  of  the  tongue  peculiar  to  the 
Mexican  ginetes,  lifted  his  horse 
which  started  at  an  amble,  and  pro-  • 
ceeded  toward  the  Paseo  de  Bu- 
carelli,  after  bowing  sarcastically  to 
some  ill-looking  horsemen  who  were 
beginning  to  prowl  round  him,  but 
whom  his  vigorous  appearance  and 
haughty  demeanor  had  hitherto 
kept  at  arm's  length. 

Although  the  darkness  was  too 
dense  at  this  moment  for  it  to  be 
possible  to  see  the  horseman's  face 
distinctly,  which  was  in  addition 
half  covered  by  the  brim  of  his 
vicuna  hat,  all  about  him  evidenced 
strength  and  youth :  he  was  armed 
as  if  for  a  nocturnal  expedition,  and 
had  on  his  saddle,  in  spite  of 
police  regulations,  a  thin,  carefully 
rolled  up  rcata. 

We  will  say,  parenthetically,  that 
the  reata  is  considered  in  Mexico 
so  dangerous  a  weapon,  that  it  re 
quires  special  permission  to  carry 
one  at  the  saddle-bow,  in  the  streets 
of  Mexico. 

The  salteadors,  who  occupy  the 
streets  after  nightfall,  and  reign 
with  undisputed  sway  over  them, 
employ  no  other  weapon  to  stop 
the  persons  they  wish  to  plunder. 
They  cast  the  running  knot  round 
their  necks,  dash  for  ward  at  full  speed, 
and  the  unlucky  man  half  strangled, 
and  dragged  from  the  saddle,  falls 
unresistingly  into  their  hands. 


At  the  moment  when  the  traveller 
we  are  following  reached  the  Bu- 
carelli,  the  last  carriages  were  leav 
ing  it,  and  it  was  soon  as  deserted 
as  the  Alameda.  He  galloped  up 
and  down  tj?6*  promenade  twice  or 
thrice,  looking  carefully  down  the 
side  rides,  and  at  the  end  of  his 
third  turn  a  horseman,  coming  from 
the  Alameda,  passed  on  his  right 
hand,  giving  him  in  a  low  voice  the 
Mexican  salute,  "  Santissima  noche, 
caballero  1" 

Although  this  sentence  had  noth- 
.ing  peculiar  about  it,  the  horseman 
started,  and  immediately  turning  his 
horse  round,  he  started  in  pursuit 
of  the  person  who  had  thus  greeted 
him.  Within  a  minute  the  two 
horsemen  were  side  by  side ;  the 
first  comer,  so  soon  as  he  saw  that 
he  was  followed,  checked  his  horse's 
pace,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  en 
tering  into  the  most  direct  com 
munication  with  the  person  he  had 
addressed. 

"A  fine  night  for  a  ride,  senor," 
the  first  horseman  said,  politely 
raising  his  hand  to  his  hat. 

"It  is,"  the  second  answered, 
"  although  it  is  beginning  to  grow 
late." 

"The  moment  is  only, the  better 
chosen  for  certain  privat^'conversa- 
tion." 

The  second  horseman  looked 
around,  and  bending  over  to  the 
speaker,  said — 

"I  almost  despaired  of  meeting 
you." 

"  Did  I  not  let  you  know  that  I 
should  come  ?" 

"  That  is.  true ;  but  I  feared  that 
some  sudden  obstacle " 

"Nothing  ought  to  impede  an 
honest  man  in  accomplishing  a 
sacred  duty,"  the  first  horseman 
answered,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
words. 

The  other  bowed  with  an  air  of 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


77 


satisfaction.    "  Then"  he  said,  "  I  can 

count  on  you,  No ." 

"  No  names  here,  senor,"  the  other 
sharply  interrupted  him.  "  Caspita, 
an  old  wood-ranger  like  you,  a  man 
who  had  long  been  a^J^rero,  ought 
to  remember  that  the  trees  have  ears 
and  the  leaves  eyes." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.  I  should 
and  do  remember  it ;  but  permit  me 
to  remark  that  if  it  is  not  possible 
for  us  to  talk  about  business  here,  I 
do  not  know  exactly  where  we  can 
do  so." 

"  Patience,  senor,  I  wish  to  serve 
you,  as  you  know,  for  you  were 
recommended  to  me  by  a  man  to 
whom  I  can  refuse  nothing.  Let 
yourself,  therefore,  be  guided  by  me, 
if  you  wish  us  to  succeed  in  this 
affair,  which,  I  confess  to  you  at 
once,  offers  enormous  difficulties, 
and  must  be  managed  with  the 
greatest  prudence." 

"  I  ask  nothing  better ;  still  you 
must  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do." 

"  For     the    present    very    little ; 
merely  follow  me  at  a  distance  to  the 
place  where  I  purpose  taking  you." 
"Are  we  going  far?" 
"Only  a  few  paces;  behind  the 
barracks   of   the  Accordades,   in  a' 
small  street  called  the  Callejon  del 
Pajaro."      t 

"  Hum  !  and  what  am  I  to  do  in 
this  street  ?" 

"  What  a  suspicious  man  you 
are  ?"  the  first  horseman  said  with 
a  laugh.  "  Listen  to  me  then.  About 
the  middle  of  the  Callejon  I  shall 
stop  before  a  house  of  rather  poor 
appearance ;  a  man  will  come  and 
hold  my  horse  while  I  enter.  A 
few  minutes  later  you  will  pull  up 
there;  after  assuring  yourself  that 
you  are  not  followed  you  will  dis 
mount  ;  give  your  horse  to  the  man 
who  is  holding  mine,  and  without 
saying  a  word  to  him,  or  letting  him 
see  your  face,  you  will  enter  the 
5 


house,  and  shut  the  door  after  you. 
I  shall  be  in  the  }rard,  and  will  lead 
you  to  a  place  where  we  shall  be 
able  to  talk  in  safety.  Does  that 
suit  you  ?" 

"  Famously ;  although  I  do  not 
understand  why  I,  who  have  set  foot 
in  Mexico  to-day  for  the  first  time, 
should  find  it  necessary  to  employ 
such  mighty  precautions." 

The  first  horseman  laughed  sar- 
castieallv. 

"Do  you  wish  to  succeed?"  he 
asked. 

"  Of  course,"  the  other  exclaimed 
energetically,  "even  if  it  cost  me 
my  life." 

"  In  that  case  do  as  you  are  rec 
ommended." 

"  Go  on,  I  follow  you." 

"  Is  that  settled  ?  you  understand 
all  about  it?" 

"I  do." 

The  second  horseman  then  checked 
his  steed  to  let  the  first  one  go  on 
ahead,  and  both  keeping  a  short  dis 
tance  apart,  proceeded  at  a  smart 
trot  toward  the  statue  of  Charles  IV., 
which,  as  we  have  said,  stands  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Paseo. 

While  conversing,  the  two  horse 
men  had  forgotten  the  advanced 
hour  of  the  night,  and  the  solitude 
that  surrounded  them.  At  the  mo 
ment  when  the  first  rider  passed  the 
equestrian  statue,  a  slip  knot  fell  on 
his  shoulders,  and  he  was  roughly 
dragged  from  his  saddle. 

"  Help  !"  he  shouted  in  a  choking 
voice. 

The  second  rider  had  seen  all; 
quick  as  thought  he  whirled  his  lasso 
round  his  head,  and  galloping  at  fall 
speed,  hurled  it  after  the  Salteador 
at  the  moment  when  he  passed 
twenty  yards  from  him. 

The  Salteador  was  stopped  dead, 
and  hurled  from  his  horse ;  the  wor 
thy  robber  had  not  suspected  that 
another  person  beside  himself  could 


78 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


have  a  lasso  so  handy.  The  horse 
man,  without  checking  his  speed, 
cut  the  reata  that  was  strangling 
his  companion,  and  turning  back, 
dragged  the  robber  after  him. 

The  first  horseman  so  providen 
tially  saved,  freed  himself  from  the 
slip  knot  that  choked  him,  and, 
hardly  recovered  from  the  alarm  he 
had  experienced  from  his  heavy  fall, 
lie  whistled  to  his  horse,  which  came 
up  at  once,  remounted  as  wfell  as  he 
could,  and  rejoined  his  liberator,  who 
had  stopped  a  short  distance  off. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  to  him,  "hence 
forth  we  are  stanch  friends;  you 
have  saved  my  life,  and  I  shall  re 
member  it." 

"  Nonsense,"  the  other  answered, 
"  I  only  did  what  you  would  have 
done  in  my  place." 

"  That  is  possible,  but  I  shall  be 
grateful  to  you  on  the  word  of  a  Car- 
nero,"  he  exclaimed,  forgetting  in 
his  joy  the  hint  he  had  given  a  short 
time  previously,  not  to  make  use  of 
names,  and  revealing  his  own  in 
cognito  ;  "is  the  picaro  dead ?" 

"  Very  nearly  so  I  fancy ;  what 
shall  we  do  with  him  ?" 

"Make  a  corpse  of  him,"  the  capa- 
taz  said  bluntly.  "  We  arc  only  two 
paces  from  the  Dead-house,  and  he 
can  be  carried  there  without  diffi 
culty.  Though  he  is  an  utter  scoun 
drel  and  tried  to  assassinate  me,  the 
police  are  so  well  managed  in  our 
unhappy  country  that  if  we  commit 
ted  the  imprudence  of  letting  him 
live,  we  should  have  interminable 
disputes  with  the  magistrates." 

Then,  dismounting,  he  stooped 
over  the  bandit,  stretched  senseless 
at  his  feet,  removed  his  lasso,  and 
coolly  dashed  out  his  brains  with  a 
blow  of  his  pistol  butt.  Immedi 
ately  after  this  summary  execution, 
the  two  men  left  the  Paseo  de  Buca- 
relli,  but  this  time  side  by  side, 
through  fear  of  a  new  accident. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   CONFIDENTIAL   CONVERSATION. 

DiRECTLYmi  emerging  from  the 
Paseo,  the  mfffnen  separated,  as  had 
been  agreed  on  between  them ;  that 
is  to  say,  the  capataz  went  ahead, 
followed  at  a  respectful  distance  by 
Martial  the  Tigrcro,  whom  the  reader 
has  doubtless  recognized. 

All  happened  as  the  capataz  had 
announced.  The  streets  were  de 
serted,  the  horsemen  only  met  a  few 
half-sleeping  serenos  leaning  against 
the  walls,  and  were  only  crossed  by 
a  patrol  of  celadores  walking  with  a 
hurried  step,  and  who  seemed  more 
inclined  to  avoid  them,  than  to  try 
and  discover  the  motives  that  caused 
them  thus  to  ride  about  the  streets 
of  the  capital  at  night  in  defiance 
of  the  law. 

The  Tigrero  entered  the  Callejon 
del  Pajaro,  and  about  the  middle  of 
the  street  saw  the  capataz's  horse 
held  by  an  ill-looking  fellow,  who 
gazed  curiously  at  him.  Don  Mar 
tial  following  the  instructions  given 
him,  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  to 
foil  the  mozo's  curiosity,  stopped  be 
fore  the  door,  dismounted,  threw  his 
bridle  to  the  fellow,  and  without  say 
ing  a  word  to  him,  resolutely  en 
tered  the  house  and  carefully  closed 
the  door  after  him. 

He  then  found  himself  in  utter 
darkness,  but  after  groping  his  way, 
which  was  not  difficult  for  him  to 
do,  as  all  Mexican  houses  are  built 
nearly  on  the  same  model,  he  pushed 
forward.  After  crossing  the  saguan, 
he  entered  a  square  yard  on  which 
several  doors  looked ;  one  of  these 
doors  was  open,  and  a  man  was 
standing  on  the  threshold  with  a  ci 
garette  in  his  mouth.  It  was  Car- 
nero. 

The  tiger-slayer  went  up  to  him; 
the  other  made  room,  and  he  walked 


THE     RED     T  R  A  C  K. 


79 


on.  The  capataz  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  whispered,  ''  Come  with 
me." 

In  spite  of  the  protestations  of  de 
votion  previously  made  by  the  cap 
ataz,  the  Tigrero  in  his  heart  was 
alarmed  at  the  manner  in  which  he 
was  introduced  into  this  mysterious 
house ;  but  as  he  was  young,  vigor 
ous,  well  armed,  brave,  and  resolved, 
if  necessary,  to  sell  his  life  dearly, 
he  yielded  his  hand  unhesitatingly 
to  Carnero,  and  allowed  him  to  guide 
him  while  seeking  to  pierce  the 
darkness  thtit  surrounded  him. 

But  all  the  windows  were  her 
metically  closed  with  shutters,  which 
allowed  no  gleam  of  light  to  enter 
from  without. 

His  guide  led  him  through  sev 
eral  rooms,  the  floors  of  which  were 
covered  with  matting  that  deadened 
the  sound  of  footsteps;  he  took  him 
up  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  opening  a 
door  with  a  key  he  took  from  his 
pocket,  conducted  him  into  a  room 
faintly  lighted  by  a  lamp  placed  be 
fore  a  statue  of  the  Virgin,  standing 
iu  one  corner  of  the  room,  on  a 
species  of  pedestal  attached  to  the 
wall,  and  covered  with  extremely 
delicate  lace. 

"Now,"  said  Carnero,  after  closing 
the  door,  from  which  the  Tigrero 
noticed  that  he  removed  the  key, 
"draw  up  a  butacca,  sit  down  and 
let  us  talk,  for  we  are  in  safety."  Don 
Martial  followed  the  advice  given 
him,  and  after  carefully  installing 
himself  in  a  butacca,  looked  anxious 
ly  around  him. 

The  room  in  which  he  found  him 
self  was  rather  spacious,  furnished 
tastefully  and  richly";  several  valu 
able  pictxires  hung  on  the  walls, 
which  were  covered  with  embossed 
leather,  while  the  furniture  con 
sisted  of  splendidly-carved  ebony  or 
mahogany  tables,  sideboards,  cheff- 
oniers,  and  butaccas.  On  the  floor 


was  an  Indian  petate,  several  books 
were  scattered  over  the  tables,  and 
valuable  plate  was  arranged  on  the 
sideboard.  In  short,  this  room  dis 
played  a  proper  comprehension  of 
comfort,  and  the  two  windows,  with 
their  Moorish  jalousies,  gave  ad 
mission  to  the  pure  breeze  which 
greatly  refreshed  the  atmosphere. 

The  capataz  lighted  two  candles 
at  the  Virgin's  lamp,  placed  them 
on  the  table,  and  then  fetching  two 
bottles  and  two  silver  cups,  which 
he  placed  before  the  Tigrero,  he 
drew  up  a  butacca,  and  seated  him 
self  opposite  his  guest. 

"  Here  is  sherry  which  I  guarantee 
to  be  real  Xeres  de  los  Caballeros; 
this  other  bottle  contains  chinquirito, 
and  both  are  at  your  service,"  he 
said,  with  a  laugh;  "whether  you 
have  a  weakness  for  sugar-cane 
spirits,  or  prefer  wine." 

"Thanks,"  Don  Martial  replied; 
"but  I  do  not  feel  inclined  to  drink." 

"You  would  not  wish  to  insult 
me  by  refusing  to  hob-nob  with 
me?"' 

"Very  well;  if  you  will  permit 
me,  I  will  take  a  few  drops  of  chin 
quirito  in  water,  solely  to  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  sensible  of  your  po 
liteness." 

"All  right,'*  the  capataz  con 
tinued,  as  he  handed  him  a  crystal 
decanter,  covered  with  curiously- 
worked  silver  filagree;  "help  your 
self." 

When  they  had  drunk,  the  capa 
taz  a  glass  of  sherry,  which  he  sipped 
like  a  true  amateur,  and  Don  Ti 
grero  a  few  drops  of  chinquirito 
drowned  in  a  glass  of  water,  the 
capataz  placed  his  glass  again  on 
the  table  with  a  smack  of  his  lips, 
and  said — 

"Now,  I  must  give  you  a  few 
words  in  explanation  of  the  slightly 
mysterious  way  in  which  I  brought 
you  here,  in  order  to  dispel  any 


80 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


doubts  which  may  have  involun 
tarily  invaded  your  mind." 

"I  am  listening  to  you,"  the  Ti- 
«*rero  answered. 

"Take  a  cigar  first;  they  are  ex 
cellent."  And  he  lit  one,  after  push 
ing  the  bundle  over  to  Don  Martial; 
the  latter  selected  one,  and  soon  the 
two  men  were  enveloped  in  a  cloud 
of  thin  and  fragrant  smoke. 

"We  are  in  the  mansion  of  Gen 
eral  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero,"  the 
capataz  continued. 

"  What?"  the  Tigrero  exclaimed, 
with  a  start  of  uneasiness. 

"Keassure  yourself,  no  one  saw 
you  enter,  and  your  presence  here 
is  quite  unknown,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  I  brought  you  in  by  my 
private  entrance." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"And  yet  it  is  very  easy  to  ex 
plain;  the  house  I  led  you  through 
belongs  to  me.  For  reasons  too 
long  to  tell  you,  and  which  would 
interest  you  but  slightly,  during 
Don  Sebastian's  absence  as  Governor 
of  Sonora,  I  had  a  passage  made, 
and  established  a  communication 
between  my  house  and  this  mansion. 
Everybody  save  myself  is  ignorant 
of  the  existence  of  this  communica 
tion,  which,"  he  added,  with  a  glow 
ing  smile,  "may  at  a  given  moment 
be  of  great  utility  to  me.  The  room 
in  which  we  now  are  forms  part  of 
the  suite  I  occupy  in  the  mansion, 
in  which  the  general,  I  am  proud  to 
say,  has  never  yet  set  foot.  The 
man  who  took  your  horse  is  devoted 
to  me,  and  even  were  he  to  betray 
me,  it  would  be  of  little  consequence 
to  me,  for  the  secret  door  of  the  pas 
sage  is  so  closely  concealed  that  -I 
have  no  fear  of  its  being  discovered. 
Hence  you  see  that  you  have  nothing 
to  fear  here,  where  your  presence 
is  unknown." 

"But   suppose  you   were  to  be 


sent  for,  through  the  general  hap 
pening  to  want  you  suddenly?" 

"Certainly,  but  I  have  foreseen 
that;  it  is  my  system  never  to  leave 
any  thing  to  chance.  Although  it 
has  never  happened  yet,  no  one  can 
enter  here  without  my  being  in 
formed  soon  enough  to  get  rid  of 
any  person  who  may  be  with  me, 
supposing  that,  for  some  reason  or 
another,  that  person  did  not  desire 
to  be  seen." 

"That  is  capitally  arranged,  and 
I  am  happy  to  see  that  you  are  a 
man  of  prudence." 

"  Prudence  is,  as  you  know,  senor, 
the  mother  of  safety ;  and  in  Mexico, 
beforeall  other  countries,  the  proverb 
receives  its  application  at  every  mo 
ment." 

The  Tigrero  bowed  politely,  but 
in  the  fashion  of  a  man  who  con 
siders  that  the  speaker  has  dwelt 
sufficiently  long  on  one  subject,  and 
wishes  to  see  him  pass  to  another. 
The  capataz  appeared  to  read  this 
almost  imperceptible  hint  on  Don 
Martial's  face,  and  continued  with  a 
smile — 

"But  enough  on  that  head:  so  let 
us  pass,  if  you  have  no  objection,  to 
the  real  purpose  of  our  interview. 
A  man,  whose  name  it  is  unneces 
sary  to  mention,  but  to  whom,  as  I 
have  already  had  the  honor  of  tell 
ing  you,  I  am  devoted  body  and 
soul,  sent  you  to  me  to  obtain  cer 
tain  information  you  require,  and 
which  he  supposes  I  am  in  a  posi 
tion  to  give.  I  will  now  add,  that 
what  passed  between  us  this  evening, 
and  the  generous  way  in  which  you 
rushed  to  my  assistance,  render  it 
my  bounden  duty  not  only  to  give 
you  this  information,  but  also  to  help 
you  with  all  my  might  in  the  suc 
cess  of  the  projects  you  are  medi 
tating,  whatever  those  projects  may 
be,  and  the  dangers  I  may  incur  in 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


81 


aiding  you.  So,  now  speak  openly 
with  me;  conceal  nothing  from  me 
and  you  will  only  have  to  praise 
my  frankness  towards  you." 

"  Senor,"  the  Tigrero  answered, 
with  considerable  emotion,  "I  thank 
you  the  more  heartily  for  your 
generous  offer,  for  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  what  perils  are  con 
nected  with  the  carrying  out  of 
these  plans,  to  say  nothing  of  their 
success." 

"  What  you  are  saying  is  true, 
but  it  will  be  better,  I  i'ancy,  for  the 
present,  for  me  to  assume  to  be 
ignorant  of  them,  so  as  to  leave  you 
the  entire  liberty  you  need  for  the 
questions  you  have  to  ask  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
head  sadly,  "  my  position  is  so  pre 
carious,  the  struggle  I  am  engaged 
in  is  so  wild,  that,  although  I  am 
supported  by  sincere  friends,  I  can 
not  be  too  prudent.  Tell  me,  then, 
what  you  know  as  to  the  fate  of  the 
unfortunate  Dona  Anita  de  Torres. 
Is  she  really  dead,  as  the  report 
spread  alleged  ?" 

"Do  you  know  what  happened 
in  the  cavern  after  you  fell  down 
the  precipice  ?" 

"  Alas  !  no ;  my  ignorance  is  com 
plete  as  to  the  facts  that  occurred 
after  I  was  abandoned  as  dead." 

Carnero  reflected  for  a  moment. 
"Listen,  Don  Martial:  before  I 
can  answer  categorically  the  ques 
tion  you  have  asked  me,  I  must  tell 
you  a  long  story.  Are  you  ready 
to  hear  it?:) 

"  Yes,"  the  other  answered,  with- 
ont  hesitation,  "for  there  are 
many  things  I  <im  ignorant,  of, 
which  I  ought  to  know.  So  speak 
without  further  delay,  senor,  and 
though  some  parts  of  the  narrative 
will  be  most  painful  to  me,  hide 
nothing  from  me,  I  implore  you !" 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed.  Moreover 
the  night  is  not  yet  far  advanced ; 


time  does  not  press  us,  and  in  two 
hours  you  will  know  all." 

"  I  am  impatiently  waiting  for  you 
to  begin." 

The  capataz  remained  for  some 
considerable  time  plunged  in  deep 
and  serious  reflection.  At  length 
he  raised  his  head,  leant  forward, 
and  setting  his  left  elbow  on  the 
table,  began  as  follows  : 

"At  the  time  when  the  facts  oc 
curred  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  I  was 
living  at  the  Hacienda  del  Palmar,  of 
which  I  was  steward.  Hence  I  was 
only  witness  to  a  portion  of  the 
facts,  and  only  know  the  rest  from 
hearsay.  When  the  Comanches  ar 
rived,  guided  by  the  white  men, 
Don  Sylva  de  Torres  was  lying 
mortally  wounded,  holding  in  his 
stiffened  arms  his  daughter  Anita, 
who  had  suddenly  gone  mad  on  see 
ing  you  roll  down  the  precipice  in 
the  grasp  of  the  Indian  chief.  Don 
Sebastian  Guerrero  was  the  only 
relation  left  to  the  helpless  young 
lady,  and  hence  she  was  taken  to 
his  hacienda." 

"  What  ?"  Don  Martial  exclaimed 
in  surprise.  "Don  Sebastian  is  a 
relation  of  Dona  Anita  ?" 

"Did  you  not  know  that?" 

"  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  it ; 
and  yet  I  had  for  several  years 
been  closely  connected  with  the 
Torres  family,  for  I  was  their 
tigrero." 

"I  know  it.  Well,  this  is  how 
the  relationship  exists :  Don  Se 
bastian  married  a  niece  of  Don 
Sylva's,  so  you  see  they  were  closely 
connected.  Still,  for  reasons  never 
thoroughly  made  known,  a  few 
years  after  the  general's  marriage,  a 
dispute  broke  out  which  led  to  a 
total  suspension  of  intimacy  be 
tween  the  two  families-.  That  is 
probably  the  reason  why  you  never 
heard  of  the  connection  existing  be 
tween  the  Sylvas  and  the  Torres." 


82 


THE     R  i:  D     TRACK 


The  Tigrero  shook  his  head. 
"Go  on,"  he  said.  "How  did  the 
general  receive  his  relation  ?" 

"  lie  was  not  at  the  hacienda  at 
the  time ;  but  an  express  was  sent 
off  to  him,  and  I  was  the  man. 
The  general  came  post  haste,  seemed 
greatly  moved  at  the  double  mis 
fortune  that  had  befallen  the  young 
lady,  gave  orders  for  her  to  be 
kindly  treated,  appointed  several 
women  to  wait  on  her,  and  returned 
to  his  post  at  Sonora,  where  events 
of  the  utmost  gravity  summoned 
him." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  have  heard  of  the 
French  invasion,  and  that  their 
leader  was  shot  by  the  general's 
orders.  I  presume  you  are  alluding 
to  that?" 

"  Yes.  Almost  immediately  after 
these  events  the  general  returned  to 
the  Palmar.  He  was  no  longer  the 
same  man.  The  horrible  death  of 
his  daughter  rendered  him  gloomier 
and  harsher  to  any  person  whom 
chance  brought  into  contact  with 
him.  For  a  whole  week  he  re 
mained  shut  up  in  his  apartments, 
refusing  to  see  any  of  us;  but,  at  last, 
one  day  he  sent  for  me  to  inquire 
as  to  what  had  happened  at  the 
hacienda  during  his  absence.  I  had 
but  little  to  tell  him,  for  life  was 
too  simple  and  uniform  at  this 
remote  dwelling  for  any  thing  at  all 
interesting  for  him  to  have  occurred. 
Still  he  listened  without  interrup 
tion,  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
and  apparently  taking  great  interest 
in  what  I  told  him,  especially  when 
it  referred  to  poor  Dona  Anita, 
whose  gentle,  interesting  madness 
drew  tears  from  us  rough  men, 
when  we  saw  her  wandering,  pale 
and  white  as  a  spectre,  about  the 
huerte,  murmuring  in  a  low  voice 
one  name,  ever  the  same,  which 
none  of  us  could  overhear,  and 
raising  to  heaven  her  lovely  face, 


bathed  in  tears.  The  general  let  me 
say  all  I  had  to  say,  and  when  I 
ended  he,  too,  remained  silent  for 
some  time.  At  length,  raising  his 
head,  he  looked  at  me  for  a  moment 
angrily. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?" 
he  asked. 

"I  am  waiting,"  I  answered,  "for 
the  orders  it  may  please  your  ex 
cellency  to  give  me." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  more 
moments  as  if  trying  to  read  my 
very  thoughts,  and  then  laid  his 
hand  on  my  arm.  "  Carnero,"  he 
said  to  me,  "you  have  been  a  long 
time  in  my  service,  but  take  care 
lest  1  should  have  to  dismiss  you. 
I  do  not  like,"  he  said,  with  a  stress 
on  the  words,  "  servants  who  are 
too  intelligent  and  too  clearsighted," 
and  when  I  tried  to  excuse  myself, 
he  added,  "  Not  a  word — profit  by 
the  advice  I  have  given  }TOU,  and 
now  lead  me  to  Dona  Anita's  apart 
ments." 

I  obeyed  with  hanging  head  ;  the 
general  remained  an  hour  with  the 
young  lady,  and  I  never  knew  what 
was  said  between  them.  It  is  true 
that  now  and  then  I  heard  the 
general  speaking  loudly  and  angrily, 
and  Dona  Anita  weeping,  and  appa 
rently  making  some  entreaty  to  him ; 
but  that  was  all,  for  prudence  warned 
me  to  keep  at  too  great  a  distance  to 
overhear  a  single  word.  When  the 
general  carne  out,  he  was  pale,  and 
sharply  ordered  me  to  prepare  every 
thing  for  his  departure.  The  mor 
row  at  day-break  we  set  out  for 
Mexico,  and  Dona  Anita  followed 
us,  carried  in  a  palanquin.  The 
journey  was  a  long  one,  but  so  long 
as  it  lasted  the  general  did  not  once 
speak  to  the  young  lady,  or  ap 
proach  the  side  of  her  palanquin. 
So  soon  as  we  reached  our  journey's,, 
end,  Dona  Anita  was  carried  to  the 
Convent  of  the  Bernardiues.  where 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


83 


she  had  been  educated,  and  the  good 
sisters  received  her  with  tears  of 
sorrowful  sympathy.  The  general, 
owing  to  the  influence  he  enjoyed, 
easily  succeeded  in  getting  himself 
appointed  guardian  to  the  young 
lady,  and  immediately  assumed  the 
management  of  her  estates,  which, 
as  you  doubtless  are  aware,  are  con 
siderable,  even  in  this  country  where 
large  fortunes  are  so  common." 

"I  know  it,"  said  the  Tigrero, 
with  a  sigh. 

"All  these  matters  settled,"  the 
capataz  continued,  "the  general  re 
turned  to  Sonora  to  arrange  his 
affairs,  and  hand  over  the  govern 
ment  to  the  person  appointed  to 
succeed  him,  and  who  started  for  his 
post  some  days  previously.  I  will 
not  tell  you  what  happened  then,  as 
you  know  it ;  besides,  we  have  only 
been  back  in  Mexico  for  a  fortnight, 
and  you  and  your  friends  followed 
our  track  from  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains." 

The  Tigrero  raised  his  head.  "  Is 
that  really  all  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  the  cap'ataz  answered. 

"On  your  honor?"  Don  Martial 
added,  looking  fixedly  at  him. 

Carnero  hesitated.  "Well,  no," 
he  said  at  last,  "  there  is  something 
else  T  must  tell  you." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DON   MAETIAL. 

THE  capataz  rose,  opened  a  door, 
went  out  for  a  moment,  returned  to 
his  seat  opposite  the  Tigrero,  poured 
himself  out  a  glass  of  sherry,  which 
he  swallowed  at  a  draught,  and  then 
letting  his  head  fall  in  his  hands, 
remained  silent. 


Don  Martial  watched  with  amaze 
ment  the  various  movements  of  the 
capataz.  Seeing  at  last  that  he  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  make  the.  con 
fession  he  was  so  impatiently  await 
ing,  he  went  over  and  touched  him 
slightly.  Carnero  started  as  if  sud 
denly  branded  with  a  hot  iron. 

"  What  you  have  to  reveal  to  me 
must  be  very  terrible,"  the  Tigrero 
at  length  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  So  terrible,  my  friend,"  the  capa 
taz  answered,  with  an  amount  of 
terror  impossible  to  depict,  "that 
though  alone  with  you  in  this  room, 
where  no  spy  can  be  concealed,  I 
fear  to  tell  it  you." 

The  Tigrero  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"Speak,  my  friend,"  he  said,  in  a 
gentle  voice,  "  I  have  suffered  such 
agony  during  the  last  few  months, 
that  all  the  springs  of  my  soul  have 
been  crushed  by  the  fatal  pressure 
of  despair.  However  horrible  may 
be  the  blow  that  menaces  me,  I  will 
endure  it  without  flinching ;  alas ! 
grief  has  no  longer  power  over  me." 

"Yes,  you  are  a  man  carved  in 
granite.  I  know  that  you  have 
struggled  triumphantly  against  lost 
fortunes ;  but,  believe  me,  Don  Mar 
tial,  there  are  sufferings  a  thousand 
fold  more  atrocious  than  death — 
sufferings  which  I  do  not  feel  the 
right  of  inflicting  on  you." 

"  The  pity  you  testify  for  me  is 
only  weakness.  I  cannot  die  before 
I  have  accomplished  the  task  to 
which  I  have  devoted  the  wretched 
existence  heaven  left  me  in  its  wrath. 
I  have  sworn,  at  the  peril  of  my  life, 
to  protect  the  girl  who  was  betrothed 
to  me  in  happier  times." 

"  Carry  out  your  oath,  then,  Don 
Martial ;  for  the  poor  child  was 
never  in  greater  peril  than  she  is  at 
present." 

"What  do  you  mean?  In  hea 
ven's  name  explain  yourself,"  the 
Tigrero  said  passionately. 


84 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"  I  mean  that  Don  Sebastian 
covets  the  incalculable  wealth  of  his 
ward,  which  he  needs  for  the  success 
of  his  ambitious  plans ;  I  mean  that 
remorselessly  and  shamelessly  lay 
ing  aside  all  human  respect,  forget 
ting  that  the  unfortunate  girl  the 
law  has  confided  to  him  is  insane, 
he  coldly  intends  to  become  her 
murderer." 

"Go  on,  go  on!  what  frightful 
scheme  can  this  man  have  formed  ?" 
"Oh!"  the  capataz  continued  with 
savage  irony;  "the  plan  is  simple, 
honest,  and  highly  praised  by  some 
persons,  who  consider  it  admirable, 
even  sublime." 

"You  will  tell  me?" 
"  Well,  know  all,  then ;  General 
Don  Sebastian  Guerrero  intends  to 
marry  his  ward." 

"  Marry  his  ward,  he !"  Don  Mar 
tial  exclaimed  with  horror,  "  'tis  im 
possible." 

"Impossible?"  the  capataz  re 
peated  with  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  how  little 
you  know  this  man  with  the  impla 
cable  will,  this  wild  beast  with  a 
human  face,  who  pitilessly  breaks 
every  one  who  dares  to  resist  him. 
He  is  resolved  to  marry  his  ward  in 
order  to  strip  her  of  her  fortune,  and 
he  will  do  so,  I  tell  you." 
"But  she  is  mad!" 
"  I  allow  she  is." 

"What  priest  would  be  so  un 
natural  as  to  bless  this  sacrilegious 
marriage  ?" 

"Nonsense,"  the  capataz  said  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  "  you  forget, 
my  good  sir,  that  the  general  pos 
sesses  the  talisman  which  renders 
every  thing  possible,  and  purchases 
every  thing — men,  women,  honor, 
and  conscience ;  he  has  gold." 

"That  is  true,  that  is  true,"  the 
Tigrero  exclaimed  in  despair,  and 
burying  his  face  in  his  hands  he 
remained  motionless,  as  if  suddenly 
struck  by  lightning. 


There  was  a  lengthened  silence, 
during  which  nothing  was  audible 
but  the  choking  sobs  that  burst  from 
Don  Martial's  heaving  chest.  It  was 
a  heart-rending  sight  to  see  this 
strong,  brave  man  so  tried  by  ad 
versity,  now  conquered  and  almost 
crushed  by  despair,  and  weeping 
like  a  frightened  child. 

The  capataz,  with  his  arms  crossed 
on  his  chest,  pale  forehead  and  eye 
brows  contracted  almost  till  they 
met,  looked  at  him  with  an  expres 
sion  of  gentle  and  sympathizing 
pity. 

"  Don  Martial,"  he  at  length  said, 
in  a  sharp  and  imperative  voice. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?Vj 
the  Tigrero  asked,  looking  up  with 
surprise. 

"  I  want  you  to  listen  to  me,  foi 
I  have  not  said  all  yet." 

"  What  more  can  you  have  to  tell 
me  ?"  the  other  asked  sadly. 

"  Arouse  yourself  like  the  man 
you  are,  instead  of  remaining  any 
longer  crushed  beneath  the  pressure 
of  despair,  like  a  child  or  a  weak 
woman.  Is  there  no  hope  left  in 
your  heart?" 

''Did  you  not  tell  rne  that  this 
man  had  an  implacable  will  which 
nothing  could  resist  ?" 

"  I  did  say  so,  I  allow ;  but  is  that 
a  reason  for  giving  up  the  struggle? 
do  you  suppose  him  invulnerable?"  £ 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  I 
can  kill  him." 

The  capataz  sh  r  u  gged  h  is  shoul  ders 
contemptuously. 

"Kill  him,"  he  repeated,  "non 
sense;  that  is  the  vengeance  of  fools  ! 
Moreover,  you  will  still  be  able  to 
do  that  when  all  other  means  failed. 
No — you  can  do  something  else." 

Don  Martial  looked  at  him  ear 
nestly.  "  You  hate  him  too  then, 
since  you  do  not  fear  to  speak  to  me 
as  you  are  doing  ?" 

"  No  matter  whether  I  hate  him 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


85 


or  not,  so  long  as  I  am  willing  to 
serve  you." 

"  That  is  true,"  the  Tigrero  mut 
tered. 

"  Besides,"  the  capataz  continued, 
"do  you  forget  who  recommended 
you  to  me  ?" 

"Valentine,"  said  Don  Martial. 
"  Valentine ;   yes,  Valentine,  who 
saved   my  life   as  you   have  done, 
and  to  whom  I  have  vowed  an  eter 
nal  gratitude." 

"  Oh,"  Don  Martial  said  mourn 
fully,  "  Valentine  himself  has  given 
up  any  further  contest  with  this 
demon." 

The  capataz  grinned  savagely. 
"Do  you  believe  that?"  he  asked 
ironically. 

"What  matter?"  the  Tigrero 
muttered. 

"  Grief  makes  you  egotistic,  Don 
Martial,"  the  other  replied  ;  "  but  I 
forgive  you  on  account  of  the  suf 
ferings  I  have  most  unluckily  caused 
you." 

He  broke  off,  poured  out  a  glass 
of  sherry,  swallowed  it,  and  sat 
down  again  on  his  butacca. 

"  He  would  be  a  bad  physician," 
he  continued,  "  who,  having  per 
formed  a  painful  operation,  did  not 
know  how  to  apply  the  proper 
remedies  to  cicatrize  and  cure  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  Ti 
grero  exclaimed,  interested,  in  spite 
of  himself,  by  the  tone  in  which 
those  words  were  uttered. 

"Do  you  believe,"  the  capataz 
continued,  "do  you  believe,  my 
friend,  that  I  would  have  inflicted 
such  great  pain  on  you  if  I  had  not 
possessed  the  means  to  cause  an  im 
mense  joy  to  succeed  it  ?  Tell  me, 
do  you  believe  that  ?" 

"Take  care,  senor,"  the  Tigrero 
said  in  a  trembling  voice,  ''take 
care  what  you  are  about,  for  I  know 
not  why,  but  I  am  beginning  to  re 
gain  hope,  and  I  warn  you  that  if 


this  last  illusion  which  you  are  try 
ing  to  produce  were  to  escape  me 
this  time,  you  would  kill  me  as 
surely  as  if  you  stabbed  me  with  a 
dagger." 

The  capataz  smiled  with  ineffable 
gentleness.  "  Hope,  my  friend;  hope, 
I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "that  is  exactly 
what  I  want  to  bring  you  to ;  for  I 
wish  you  to  have  faith  in  me." 

"  Speak,  senor,"  he  replied ;  "  I 
will  listen  to  you  with  confidence, 
for  I  do  not  believe  you  capable  of 
sporting  so  coldly  with  agony  like 
mine."  • 

"  Good,  we  have  reached  the  point 
I  have  been  aiming  at  so  long.  Now 
listen  to  me.  I  told  you,  I  think, 
that  on  her  arrival  in- Mexico,  Dona 
Anita  was  taken  by  Don  Sebastian 
to  the  Convent  of  the  Bernardines?" 

"  Yes !  I  fancy  I  can  remember 
your  saying  so." 

"Very  good.  Dona  Anita  was 
received  with  open  arms  by  the 
good  nuns  who  had  educated  her. 
The  young  lady,  on  finding  herself 
again  among  the  companions  of  her 
childhood,  treated  with  kind  and 
intelligent  care,  wandering  unre 
strained  beneath  the  lofty  trees  that 
had  sheltered  her  early  years,  gradu 
ally  felt  calmness  returning  to  her 
mind;  her  grief  by  degrees  gave 
way  to  a  gentle  melancholy ;  her 
ideas,  overthrown  by  a  frightful 
catastrophe,  regained  their  balance ; 
in  short,  the  madness  which  bad 
spread  its  black  wings  over  her 
brain  was  driven  away  by  the  soft 
caresses  of  the  nuns,  and  soon  en 
tirely  disappeared." 

"So,  then^"  Don  Martial  ex 
claimed,  "slie  has  regained  her 
reason  ?" 

"  I  will  not  venture  to  assert  that, 
for  she  is  still  insane  in  the  opinion 
of  everybody." 

"But  in  that  case "  the  Ti 
grero  said  in  a  panting  voice. 


86 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"In  that  case,"  the  capataz  con 
tinued,  purposely  laying  a  stress  on 
every  word,  while  fixing  a  magnetic 
glance  on  the  Tigrero,  "as  all  the 
world  believes  it,  it  must  be  so  till 
the  contrary  is  proved." 

"  But  how  did  you  learn  all  these 
details?" 

"  In  the  most  simple  manner.  My 
master,  Don  Sebastian,  has  sent  me 
several  times  to  the  convent  with 
messages,  and  chance  decreed  that 
I  recognized  in  the  sister-porter  a 
relation  of  mine,  whom  I  thought 
dead  long  ago.  The  worthy  woman, 
in  her  delight,  and  perhaps,  too,  to 
make  up  for  the  long  silence  she  is 
compelled  to  maintain,  tells  me 
whenever  she  sees  me  all  that  is 
said  and  done  in  the  convent,  and 
there  is  a  good  deal  to  learn  from 
the  conversation  of  a  nun.  She 
takes  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  me, 
and  as  I  am  fond  of  her  too,  I  listen 
to  her  with  pleasure.  Now,  do  you 
understand  ?" 

"  Oh !  go  on.     Go  on  !" 

"  Well,  this  time  I  have  nearly 
finished.  It  appears,  from  what  my 
Nrelation  tells  me,  that  the  nuns,  and 
the  Mother  Superior  before  all,  are 
utterly  opposed  to  the  general's 
plans  of  marriage." 

"Oh,  the  holy  women!"  the  Ti 
grero  exclaimed  with  simple  joy. 

"Are  they  not  ?"  the  capataz  said 
with  a  laugh.  "This  is  probably 
the  reason  why  they  keep  so  secret 
the  return  of  their  boarder  to  her 
senses,  for  they  doubtless  hope  that, 
so  long  as  the  poor  girl  is  mad,  the 
general  will  not  dare  contract  the 
impious  union  he  is  meditating; 
unfortunately,  they  do  not  know 
the  man  with  whom  they  have  to 
deal,  and  the  ferocious  ambition 
that  devours  him — an  ambition  for 
the  gratification  of  which  he  will 
recoil  from  no  crime,  however 
atrocious  it  may  be." 


"Alas!"  the  Tigrero  said  despair- 
ingly;  "you  see,  my  friend,  that  I 
am  lost." 

"  Wait,  wait,  my  good  sir ;  your 
situation,  perhaps,  is  not  so  desper 
ate  as  you  imagine  it." 

"  My  heart  is  on  fire." 

"Courage;  and  listen  to  me  to 
the  end.  Yesterday  I  went  to  the 
convent,  the  Mother  Superior,  to 
whom  I  had  the  honor  of  speaking, 
confided  to  me,  under  the  seal  of 
secrecy — for  she  knows  that,  al 
though  I  am  a  servant  of  Don  Se 
bastian,  I  take  a  deep  interest  in 
Dona  Anita,  and  would  be  glad  to 
see  her  happy — that  the  young  lady 
has  expressed  an  intention  to  con 
fess." 

'Ah,  for  what  reason?  do  you 
know?". 

"  No,  I  do  not  1" 

"But  that  desire  can  be  easily 
satisfied,  I  presume,  there  are  plenty 
of  monks  and  priests  attached  to  the 
convent." 

"Your  observation  is  just;  still 
it  appears  that,  for  reasons  I  am 
equally  ignorant  of,  neither  the 
Mother  Superior  nor  Dona  Anita 
wishes  to  have  one  of  those  monks 
or  priests  for  confessor,  hence " 

"Hence?"  Don  Martial  quickly 
interrupted  him. 

"  Well,  the  Mother  Superior  asked 
me  to  bring  her  a  priest  or  monk  in 
whom  I  had  confidence." 

"Ah !" 

"  You  understand,  my  friend." 

"  Yes,  yes !     Oh,  God !  go  on  !" 

"And  to  take  him  to  the  convent." 

"And,"  Don  Martial  asked,  in  a 
choking  voice,  "have  you  found  this 
confessor?" 

"I  believe  so,"  the  capataz  an 
swered,  with  a  smile;  "and  pray, 
what  do  you  think,  Don  Martial?" 

"Yes,  I  do  too,"  he  exclaimed, 
joyfully.  "At  what  time  are  you  to 
take  this  confessor  to  the  convent  ?" 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


"To-morrow,  at  the  Oracion." 

"Very  good,  and  I  presume  you 
have  arranged  a  place  to  meet  him?" 

"Caspita!  I  should  think  so;  he 
is  to  meet  me  at  the  Parian,  where 
I  shall  be  at  the  first  stroke  of  the 
Oracion." 

"I  am  certain  that  he  will  be 
punctual !" 

"And  so  am  I;  and  now,  senor, 
do  you  consider  that  you  have  lost 
your  time  in  listening  to  me?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  Don  Martial 
replied,  as  he  offered  him  his  hand 
with  a  smile,  "I  consider  you  a  first- 
rate  hand  at  telling  a  story." 

"You  flatter  me." 

"No,  indeed,  I  do  not.  I  con 
sider,  too,  that  the  nuns  of  St.  Ber 
nard  are  excellent  and  holy  women." 

"Caspita!  I  should  think  so;  they 
have  a  relation  of  mine  as  portress." 

The  two  men  burst  into  a  frank 
and  hearty  laugh,  whose  explosion 
no  one  could  have  anticipated  from 
the  way  in  which  their  interview 
began. 

"Now,  we  must  separate,"  the 
capataz  said,  as  he  rose. 

"What,  already?" 

"I  have  to  accompany  my  master 
to-night  on  an  excursion  outside  the 
city." 

"  Some  plot,  I  presume  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  so;  but  what  would 
you  have?  I  am  forced  to  obey." 

"In  that  case,  turn  me  out  of 
doors." 

"  That  is  what  I  am  going  to  do; 
by-the-by,  have  you  seen  Don  Yal- 
entine  since  you  arrived?" 

"Not  yet.  This  long  delay  makes 
me  anxious;  and  if  it  were  not  so 
late,  or  if  I  knew  my  road,  I  would 
go  and  ask  hospitality  of  Don  An 
tonio  Kallier,  his  fellow-countryman, 
so  as  to  obtain  news  of  him." 

"  That  is  of  no  consequence.  Do 
you  know  Don  Antonio's  address?" 


"Yes,  he  lives  in  the  Secunda 
Monterilla." 

"It  is  close  by;  if  you  wish  it,  I 
will  have  you  taken  there." 

"I  should  feel  greatly  obliged; 
but  by  whom?" 

"  Caspita !  have  you  forgotten  the 
man  to  whom  you  intrusted  your 
horse?  he  will  act  as  your  guide." 

"A  thousand  thanks !" 

"  It  is  not  worth  them.  "Will  you 
take  a  walk  to-morrow  in  the  Pa 
rian  ?" 

"I  am  so  anxious  to  see  your 
confessor  that  I  shall  not  fail  to  be 
there." 

The  two  men  smiled  again. 

"Now,  give  me  your  hand,  and 
let  us  be  off." 

They  went  out  of  the  room ;  the 
capataz  led  the  Tigrero  by  the  same 
passage,  walking  along  in  the  dark 
ness  as  if  it  were  broad  day,  and 
they  soon  found  themselves  beneath 
the  saguan  of  the  small  house.  The 
capataz  thrust  his  head  out  after 
opening  the  door  cautiously.  The 
street  was  deserted,  and  after  look 
ing  up  and  down  it,  he  whistled  in  a 
peculiar  way,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
footsteps  were  heard,  and  the  peon 
appeared  holding  the  Tigrero's  horse 
by  the  bridle. 

"Good-bye,  senor,"  the  capataz 
said.  "  I  thank  you  for  the  delight 
ful  evening  you  have  caused- me  to 
spend.  Pilloto,  lead  this  senor,  who 
is  a  forastero,  to  the  Secunda  Mon 
terilla,  and  point  out  to  him  the 
house  of  Senor  Don  Antonio  Hal- 
lier." 

"  Yes,  mi  amo,"  the  peon  answered 
laconically. 

The  two  friends  exchanged  a  part 
ing  salutation;  the  Tigrero  mounted, 
and  followed  Pilloto,  while  the  capa 
taz  re-entered  the  house  and  closed 
the  door  after  him.  After  number 
less  turnings  and  windings,  the  rider 


88 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


and  the  footman  at  length  entered  a 
street  which,  from  its  width,  the 
Tigrero  suspected  to  form  part  of 
the  fashionable  quarter. 

"  This  is  the  Secunda  Monterilla," 
said  the  peon,  "and  that  gentleman," 
he  added,  pointing  to  a  horseman 
who  was  coming  toward  them,  fol 
lowed  by  three  footmen  also  mounted 
and  well-armed,  "  is  the  very  Don 
Antonio  you  are  looking  for." 

"  You  are  sure  of  it  ?"  the  Tigrero 
asked. 

"  Carai !  I  know  him  well." 

"If  that  is  the  case,  accept  this 
piastre,  my  friend,  and  go  home,  for 
I  no  longer  need  your  services." 

The  peon  bowed  and  retired. 
During  the  conversation  the  new 
comer  had  halted  in  evident  alarm. 

"Tis  I,  Don  Antonio,"  the  Ti 
grero  shouted  to  him.  "  Come  on 
without  fear — I  am  a  friend." 

"  Oh,  oh  1  it  is  very  late  to  meet  a 
friend  in  the  street,"  Don  Antonio 
answered,  though  he  advanced  with 
out  hesitation,  after  laying  his  hand 

i  •  1 

on  his  weapon  to  guard  against  a 

surprise. 

"  I  am  Martial,  the  Tigrero." 

"  Oh,  that  is  different ;  what  do 
you  want  ?  A  lodging,  eh  ?  I  will 
have  you  led  to  my  house  by  a  ser 
vant,  aud  there  leave  you  till  to 
morrow,  as  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

"Agreed  ;  but  allow  me  one 
word." 

"Speak!" 

"  Where  is  Don  Valentine  ?" 

" Do  you  want  to  see  him?" 

"  Excessively." 

"Then  come  with  me,  for  I  am 
.  going  to  him  !" 

"  Heaven  has  sent  him  thus  op 
portunely,"  the  Tigrero  exclaimed, 
as  he  drew  his  horse  up  alongside 
Don  Antonio's. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   VELORIO. 

IT  was  very  late  when  the  con 
spirators  separated,  and  when  the 
last  groups  of  officers  left  the  rancho, 
the  sound  of  the  Indian  horses  and 
mules  proceeding  to  market  was 
audible  on  the  paved  highway.  Al 
though  the  darkness  was  still  thick, 
the  stars  were  beginning  to  die  out 
in  the  heavens ;  the  cold  was  becom 
ing  sharper — in  a  word,  all  foretold 
that  day  would  soon  break. 

The  two  travellers  had  seated 
themselves  again  at  a  corner  of  the 
table,  opposite  one  another,  and 
were  dumb  and  motionless  as 
statues.  The  host  walked  about  the 
room  with  a  busy  air,  apparently 
arranging  and  clearing  up,  but  very 
anxious  in  reality,  and  desirous,  in 
his  heart,  to  be  rid  as  soon  as  possi 
ble  of  these  two  'singular  customers 
whose  silence  and  sobriety  inspired 
him  with  but  slight  confidence. 

At  length  the  person  who  had 
always  spoken  on  his  own  behalf 
and  that  of  his  companion  struck 
the  table  twice,  and  the  landlord 
hurried  up  at  this  summons. 

"  What  do  you  wish  for,  excel 
lency?"  he  asked,  with  an  obse 
quious  air. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  landlord,"  the 
stranger  continued,  "it  strikes  me 
that  your  criado  is  a  long  time  in 
returning ;  he  ought  to  have  been 
back  before  this." 

"Pardon  me,  excellency,  but  it  is 
a  long  journey  from  here  to  the 
Secunda  Monterilla,  especially  when 
you  are  obliged  to  walk  it.  Still, 
I  believe  the  peon  will  soon  be 
baek." 

"  May  Heaven  hear  you  !  Give 
us  each  a  glass  of  tamarind  water." 

At  this  moment,  when  the  land- 


THE     REP    TRACK. 


89 


lord  brought  the  draught,  there 
was  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"Perhaps  it  is  our  man,"  the 
stranger  said. 

"That  is  possible,  your  excel 
lency,"  the  landlord  answered,  as  he 
went  to  open  the  door  on  the  chain, 
which  left  only  a  passage  of  a  few 
inches,  much  too  narrow  for  the 
visitor  to  enter  the  house  against 
the  wish  of  its  owner.  This  pre 
cautionary  measure,  which  is  at 
once  very  prudent  and  simple,  is 
generally  adopted  all  through 
Mexico,  owing  to  the  slight  confi 
dence  with  which  the  police  organi 
zation  in  this  blessed  country,  which 
is  the  refuge  of  scoundrels  of  every 
description,  inspires  the  inhabitants. 

After  exchanging  a  few  words  in 
a,  low  voice  with  the  new  arrival, 
the  landlord  unhooked  the  chain 
and  opened  the  door. 

''Excellency,"  he  said  to  the  stran 
ger,  who  was  slowly  sipping  his 
tamarind  water,  "  here  is  your  mes 
senger." 

"At  last,"  the  traveller,  said, 
gladly,  as  he  placed  his  horn  mug 
on  the  table. 

The  peon  entered,  politely  doffed 
his  hat  and  bowed. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  the  stranger 
asked  him,  "did  you  find  the  per 
son  to  whom  I  sent  you  ?'' 

"  Yes,  excellency,  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  find  him  at  home  on  his 
return  from  a  tertulia  in  the  Calle 
San  Agustin." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  and  what  did  he  say 
on  receiving  my  note  ?" 

"  Well,  excellency,  he  is  a  cabal- 
lero,  for  sure ;  for  he  first  gave  me 
a  piastre,  and  then  said  to  me,  '  Go 
back  as  quick  as  you  can  walk,  and 
'  tell  the  gentleman  who  sent  you  that 
I  shall  be  at  the  meeting  he  appoints 
as  soon  as  yourself.'" 

"  So  that " 


"  He  will  probably  be  here  in  a 
few  minutes." 

"Very  good,  you  are  a  clever 
lad,"  the  stranger  answered;  "here 
is  another  piastre  for  you,  and  now 
you  can  retire." 

"Thanks,  your  excellency,"  the 
peon  said,  joyfully  pocketing  his 
piastre.  "  Carai !  I  should  be  a  rich 
man  with  only  two  nights  a  month 
like  this.1' 

And  after  bowing  a  second  time, 
he  left  the  room  to  go  and  sleep,  in 
all  probability,  in  the  corral.  The 
peon  had  told  the  truth,  for  he  had 
scarce  left  the  room  ten  minutes  ere 
a  rather  loud  voice  was  heard  with 
out  :  horses  stamped,  and  not  only 
was  the  door  struck,  but  there  were 
several  loud  calls. 

"  Open  the  door  without  fear,"  the 
stranger  said  ;  "I  know  that  voice." 

The  ranch'ero  obeyed,  and  several 
persons  entered  the  inn. 

"At  last  you  have  returned,  my 
dear  Valentine,"  the  new-comer  ex 
claimed  in  French,  as  he  walked 
quickly  towards  the  travellers,  who, 
for  their  part,  went  to  meet  him. 

"  Thanks  for  your  promptitude  in 
responding  to  my  invitation,  my 
dear  Rallier,"  the  hunter  answered. 

The  ranchero  bit  his  lips  on  hear 
ing  them  talk  in  a  language  he  did 
not  understand. 

"Hum!  they  are  Ingleses,"  he 
muttered  spitefully.  "I  suspected 
they  must  be  gringos. 

It  is  a  general  rule  with  the  lower 
class  Mexicans  that  all  foreigners 
are  English,  and  consequently  hun 
ters  or  gringos." 

"Come  here,  No  Lusacho,"  Val 
entine  said,  addressing  the  landlord, 
who  was  turning  his  hat  between 
his  fingers  with  an  air  of  considera 
ble  embarrassment,  "I  have  to  talk 
on  important  matters  with  these 
gentlemen,  and  as  I  do  not  wish  to 


90 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


be  disturbed  by  you,  I  propose  that 
you  should  give  me  up  this  room 
for  an  hour." 

"  Excellency,"  he  muttered. 

"  I  understand,  you  expect  to  be 
paid.  Very  good,  I  will  pay  you, 
but  on  condition  that  no  one,  not 
even  yourself,  comes  in  till  I  call." 

"Still,  your  excellency " 

"Listen  to  me  without  interrup 
tion.  Day  will  not  break  for  two 
hours,  so  you  will  not  open  your 
rancho  till  then,  and,  consequently, 
you  have  no  customers  to  expect. 
I  will  pay  an  ounce  for  each  hour ; 
will  that  suit  you  ?" 

"  I  should  think  so,  your  excel 
lency  ;  at  that  price  I  will  sell  you 
the  whole  day  if  you  wish." 

"  That  is  not  necessary,"  the  hun 
ter  said,  with  a  laugh ;  "but  you 
understand  I  want  fair  play — no 
ears  on  the  listen,  or  eyes  at  the 
slits  of  the  panelling." 

"  I  am  an  honest  man,  your  ex 
cellency." 

"  I  am  ready  to  believe  so ;  but  I 
warn  you,  because  in  the  event  of 
my  seeing  an  eye  or  an  ear  lap,  I 
shall  immediately  fire  a  bullet  at  it 
as  a  recommendation  to  prudence, 
and  I  have  the  ill-luck  to  be  a  dead 
shot.  Does  the  bargain  suit  you 
with  those  conditions  ?" 

"Perfectly,  your  excellency.  I 
shall  keep  a  strict  watch  over  my 
people,  so  that  you  shall  not  be 
disturbed." 

"You  are  a  splendid  .landlord, 
and  I  predict  that  you  will  make  a 
rapid  fortune,  for  I  see  that  you 
thoroughly  understand  your  own 
interests." 

"  I  try  to  satisfy  the  gentry  who 
honor  my  poor  abode  with  their 
presence." 

"  Excellently  reasoned  1  Here  are 
the  two  promised  ounces,  and  four 
piastres  in  the  bargain  for  the  re 


freshments  you  are  going  to  serve 
us.  Have  these  gentlemen's  horses 
taken  to  the  corral,  and  have  the 
goodness  to  leave  us." 

The  landlord  bowed  with  a 
grimacing  smile,  brought,  with  a 
speed  far  from  common  with  people 
of  his  calling,  the  refreshments 
ordered,  and  gave  the  hunter  a  deep 
bow. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "your excellency 
is  in  your  own  house,  and  no  one 
shall  enter  without  your  orders." 

While  Valentine  was  making  this 
bargain  with  the  ranchero,  his 
friends  remained  silent,  laughing 
inwardly  at  the  hunter's  singular 
mode  of  proceeding,  and  the  un 
answerable  arguments  he  employed 
to  avoid  an  espionage  almost  always 
to  be  found  in  such  places,  when  the 
master  does  not  scruple  to  betray 
those  who  pay  him  best. 

"  Now,"  said  Valentine,  so  soon 
as  the  door  closed  behind  the  land 
lord,  "  we  shall  talk  at  least  in 
safety." 

"  Speak  Spanish,  my  friend,"  said 
M.  Eallier. 

"Why  so?  It  is  so  delightful 
to  converse  in  one's  own  tongue, 
when,  like  me,  you  have  so  few 
opportunities  for  doing  so.  I  assure 
you  that  Curumilla  will  not  feel 
offended." 

"Hum;  I  did  not  say  this  on 
behalf  of  the  chief,  whose  friendship 
for  you  I  am  well  acquainted  with." 

"  Who  then  ?" 

"For  Don  Martial,  who  has  ac 
companied  me,  and  has  important 
matters  to  communicate  to  you." 

"Oh,  oh,  that  changes  the  ques 
tion,"  said  the  hunter,  at  once  sub 
stituting  Spanish  for  the  French 
he  had  hitherto  employed.  "Are 
you  there,  my  dear  Don  Martial  ?" 

"Yes,  senor,"  the  Tigrero  an 
swered,  emerging  from  the  gloom  in 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


91 


which  he  had  remained  up  to  this 
moment,  "  and  very  happy  to  see 
you." 

"  Who  else  have  you  brought 
with  you,  Don  Antonio  ?" 

"Me,  my  friend,"  said  a  third 
person,  as  he  let  the  folds  of  his 
cloak  fall.'  "My  brother  thought 
that  it  would  be  better  to  have  a 
companion,  in  the  event  of  an 
alarm." 

"  Your  brother  was  right,  my  dear 
Edward,  and  I  thank*  him  for  the 
good  idea,  which  procures  me  the 
pleasure  of  shaking  your  hand  a  few 
moments  sooner.  And  now,  senores, 
if  you  are  agreeable,  we  will  sit 
down  and  talk,  for,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  we  have  certain  things  to 
tell  eacli  other  which  are  most  im 
portant  for  us." 

"That  is  true!"  Antonio  Rallier 
answered,  as  he  sat  down,  in  which 
he  was  immediately  imitated  by  the 
rest. 

"If  you  like,"  Valentine  con 
tinued,  "we  will  proceed  in  regular 
rotation  ;  that  is,  I  fancy,  the  way  to 
finish  more  quickly,  for  you  know 
that  moments  are  precious." 

"  First,  and  before  all  else,  my 
friend,"  said  Antonio  Rallier,  "per 
mit  me  to  thank  you  once  again,  in 
my  own  name  and  that  of  my 
family,  for  the  services  you  rendered 
me  in  our  journey  across  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  Without  you,  without 
your  watchful  friendship  and  cour 
ageous  devotion,  we  should  never 
have  emerged  from  those  frightful 
gorges,  but  must  have  perished 
miserably  in  them." 

"  What  good  is  it,  my  friend,  to 
recal  at  this  moment " 

"Because,"  Antonio  Rallier  con 
tinued  eagerly,  '•  I  wish  you  to  be 
thoroughly  convinced  that  you  can 
dispose  of  us  all  as  you  please. 
Our  arms,  purses,  and  hearts,  all 
belong  to  you." 


"  I  know  it,  my  friend,  and  you 
see  that  I  have  not  hesitated  to 
make  use  of  you,  at  the  risk  even 
of  compromising  you.  So  let  us 
leave  this  subject,  and  come  to  facts. 
What  have  you  done  ?" 

"  I  have  literally  followed  your 
instructions ;  according  to  your  wish, 
I  have  hired  and  furnished  for  you 
a  house  in  Tacuba  Street." 

"Pardon  me,  but  you  know  that 
I  am  very  slightly  acquainted  with 
Mexico,  for  I  have  visited  that 
city  but  rarely,  and  each  time  with 
out  stopping." 

"  The  Tacuba  is  one  of  the  princi 
pal  streets  in  Mexico ;  it  faces  the 
palace,  and  is  close  to  the  street  in 
which  I  reside  with  my  family." 

"  That  is  famous.  And  in  whose 
name  did  you  take  the  house  ?" 

"In  that  of  Don  Serapio  de  la 
Ronda.  Your  servants  arrived  two 
days  ago." 

"  You  mean " 

"  I  mean  Belhumeur  and  Black 
Elk;  the  former  is  your  steward 
and  the  latter  your  valet.  They 
have  made  all  the  arrangements,  and 
you  can  arrive  when  you  please." 

"  To-day,  then." 

"I  will  act  as  your  guide." 

"  Thank  you  ;  what  next  ?" 

"Next,  my  brother  Edward  has 
taken,  in  his  own  name  at  the  San 
Lazaro  gate,  a  small  house,  where 
ten  horses,  belonging  to  the  purest 
mustang  breed,  were  at  once  placed 
in  a  magnificent  corral." 

"That  concerns  Curumilla;  he 
will  live  in  that  house  with  your 
brother." 

"And  now  one  other  thing,  my 
friend." 

"  Speak !" 

"You  will  not  be  angry  with 
me?" 

"  With  you  ?  nonsense  !"  said 
Valentine,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"Not  knowing  whether  you  had 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


sufficient  funds  at  your  disposal — 
and  you  will  agree  with  me  that  you 
will  require  a  large  sum " 

"I  know  it.     Well?" 

"Well,  I " 

"  I  see  I  must  come  to  your  as 
sistance,  my  poor  Antonio.  As  you 
believe  me  a  poor  devil  of  a  hunter 
not  possessed  of  a  farthing,  and  are 
so  delicate-minded  yourself,  you 
have  placed  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
or  in  some  article  of  furniture,  of 
which  you  want  to  give  me  the  key 
and  don't  know  how,  fifty  or  per 
haps  one  hundred  thousand  piastres, 
with  the  reservation  to  offer  me 
more,  should  not  that  sum  prove 
sufficient." 

"Would  you  be  angry  with  me, 
had  I  done  so  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  should  be 
most  grateful  to  you." 

"In,  that  case  I  am  glad." 

"Glad  of  what,  my  dear  An 
tonio  ?" 

"  That  you  accept  the  hundred 
thousand  piastres." 

Valentine  smiled. 

"I  am  delighted  to  find  that  you 
are  the  man  I  judged  you  to  be. 
Still,  while  thanking  you  from  my 
heart  for  the  service  you  wish  to 
render  me,  I  do  not  accept  it." 

"Do  you  refuse,  Valentine?"  he 
said,  mournfully. 

"Let  us  understand  each  other, 
my  friend.  I  do  not  refuse ;  I  sim 
ply  tell  you  that  I  do  not  want  the 
money,  and  here  is  the  proof,"  he 
added,  as  he  took  from  his  pocket  a 
folded  paper,  which  he  handed  to 
his  countryman,  "you,  as  a  banker, 
may  know  the  firm  of  Thornwood, 
Davidson  &  Co." 

"It  is  the  richest  in  San  Fran 
cisco." 

"  Then  open  that  paper  and  read." 

Mr.  Rallier  obeyed. 

"An  unlimited  credit  opened  at 


my  house,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice 
tremulous  with  joy. 

"Does  that  displease  you?'-'  Val 
entine  asked,  with  a  srnile. 

"  On  the  contrary  ;  but  you  must 
be  rich  in  that  case." 

A  cloud  of  sadness  passed  over 
the  hunter's  forehead. 

"  I  have  grieved  you,  my  friend." 

''Alas!  as  you  know,  there  are 
certain  wounds  which  never  close. 
Yes,  my  friend,  I  am  rich ;  Curu- 
milla,  Belhumeur,  and  myself  alone, 
now  that  my  foster-brother  is  dead, 
know  in  Apacheriu  the  richest  placer 
that  exists  in  the  world.  It  was  for 
the  purpose  of  going  to  this  placer 
that  I  did  not  accompany  you  to 
Mexico  ;  now  you  understand  ;  but 
what  do  I  care  for  this  incalculable 
fortune,  when  my  heart  is  dead,  and 
the  joy  of  my  life  is  forever  annihi 
lated  !" 

And  under  the  weight  of  the  deep 
emotion  that  crushed  him,  the  hunter 
hung  his  head  down  and  stifled  a 
sob.  Curumilla  arose  amid  the 
general  silence,  for  no  one  ventured 
to  offer  ordinary  consolation  for  this 
grief,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Valen 
tine's  shoulder — 

"Koutonepi,"  he  said  to  him  in  a 
hollow  voice,  "  remember  that  you 
have  sworn  to  avenge  our  brother." 

The  hunter  drew  himself  up  as  if 
stung  by  a  serpent,  and  pressing  the 
hand  the  Indian  offered  him,  he 
looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
strange  fixedness. 

"  Women  alone  weep  for  the  dead, 
because  they  are  unable  to  avenge 
them,"  the  Indian  continued  in  the 
same  harsh,  cutting  accent. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  the  hunter 
answered  with  feverish  energy;  "1 
thank  you,  chief,  for  having  recalled 
me  to  myself." 

Curumilla  laid  h'is  friend's  hand  on 
his  heart,  and  stood  for  an  instant 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


93 


Sttotionless ;  at  length  he  let  it  fall, 
sat  down  again,  and  wrapping  him 
self  in  his  sarape,  he  returned  to 
his  habitual  silence,  from  which  so 
grave  a  circumstance  alone  con  id 
have  aroused  him.  Valentine  passed 
his  hand  twice  over  his  foreljead, 
which  was  bathed  in  cold  pevspira- 
iion,  and  attempted  a  faint  srjiile. 

"Forgive  me,  my  friends,  for 
having  forgotten,  during  r,  moment, 
the  character  I  have  assumed,"  he 
said  in  a  gentle  voice. 

Their  hands  weresile  ntly  extended 
to  him. 

"Now,1'  he  exclaimed  in  a  firm 
voice,  in  whose  n<^tes  traces  of  the 
past  tempest  were  still  audible,  "  let 
us  speak  of  that,  poor  Dona  Anita 
de  Torres." 

"  Alas !"  sai-4  the  elder  Rallier,  "  I 
cannot  tell  y  ou  any  thing,  although 
tny  sister  Helena,  her  companion  at 
the  Convert  of  the  Bernardines,  to 
which  I  P  eut  her  in  accordance  with 
your  wi^h,  has  let  me  know  that 
she  woi  ild  have  grand  news  for  us  in 
a  few  'Jays." 

"  I  \vill  give  you  that  news,  with 
your/  permission,"  Don  Martial  said 
at  4jhis  moment,  suddenly  joining  in 
tKe  conversation,  to  which  he  had 
hitherto  listened  with  great  indif 
ference. 

"Do  you  know  any  thing?"  Val 
entine  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  something  most  important ; 
that  is  why  I  was  so  anxious  to  speak 
with  you." 

"  Speak  then,  my  friend,  speak,  we 
are  listening." 

TheTigrero,  without  further  press 
ing,  at  once  reported,  in  the  fullest 
details,  his  interview  with  Don 
Sebastian  Guerrero's  capataz.  The 
three  Frenchmen  listened  with  the 
most  serious  attention,  and  when  he 
had  finished  his  story,  Valentine 
rose  — 

"  Let  us  be  o2J  senors."  he  said, 
6 


" we  have  no  time  to  lose;  perhaps 
heaven  offers  us,  at  this  moment,  the 
opportunity  we  have  been  so  long 
awaiting." 

The  others  rose  without  asking 
the  hunter  for  any  explanation,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  Valentine  and 
his  comrades  were  galloping  along 
the  highway  in  the  direction  of 
Mexico. 

"I  do  not  know  what  diabolical 
plot  they  are  forming,"  No  Lusacho 
muttered,  on  seeing  them  disappear 
in  the  distance ;  "  but  they  are  wor 
thy  gentlemen,  and  let  the  ounces 
slip  through  their  fingers  like  so 
much  water." 

And  he  entered  the-  rancho,  the 
door  of  which  he  now  left  open,  for 
day  was  breaking. 


CHAPTEK  XV. 

THE  CONVERT  OF  THE  BEENAB- 
DUS'ES. 

THE  history  of  colonies  is  the 
same  every  where,,  that  is  to  say,  that 
you  find  the  old  belief,  the  forgotten 
manners  and  customs  of  the  mother 
country  intact,  and  almost  exagger 
ated. 

Mexico  was  to. Spain,  what  Canada 
still  is  to  France.  In  Mexico  we 
therefore  find  the  Spain  of  the 
monks,  with  all  the  abuses  of  a  de 
generate  monastic  life •;;  for  we  are 
compelled  to  state  that  with  fewr 
very  few  exceptions,  the  monksdpf 
Mexico  are  far  from  leading 
emplary  life.  A  few  years. 
Papal  legate  arrived  at 
had  been  sent  to  try  and  i 
into  the  monasteries  refold  Which 
had  become  urgent; 
recognized  the  i 


94 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


oess,  and  returned  as  he  came.  This 
is  the  history  of  yesterday  and  to 
day,  and  in  the  way  things  are  going 
on,  it  will  be  the  history  of  to-mor 
row. 

In  spite  of  the  innumerable  revo 
lutions,  the  Mexican  naonks  are  still 
very  rich.  Among  other  uses  to 
which  they  put  their  money,  the 
best  is,  perhaps,  lending  it  out  at  six 
per  cent.,  which,  let  us  hasten  to  add, 
is  a  great  blessing  in  a  country 
where  the  ordinary  interest  on  bor 
rowed  money  is  sixteen  to  eighteen 
per  cent.  Still,  it  appears  to  us,  and 
we  trust  the  remark  will  not  be 
taken  in  bad  part,  but  little  in  har 
mony  with  the  vocation  of  the 
monks  and  the  pure  doctrines  of 
religion,  which  is  so  opposed  to 
lending  money  out  at  interest,  for  it 
has  ever  seen  in  it  disguised  usury. 

We  will  add,  at  the  risk  of  incur 
ring  the  blame  of  some  persons,  and 
of  appearing  to  emit  a  paradox,  that 
in  this  collection  of  Christian  reli 
gious  buildings  there  seems  to  be 
kept  up  the  tradition  of  the  great 
Mexican  Teocali,  which  contained 
within  its  walls  seventy-eight  build 
ings  devoted  to  the  Aztec  worship. 

In  the  first  place,  what  is  the  reli 
gion  professed  in  Spanish  America? 
It  certainly  is  not  the  Catholic  faith ; 
and  this  we  ean  affirm  with  a  safe 
conscience,  and  supply  proof  if  ne 
cessary.  The  Americans  of  the 
south,  like  all  southern  peoples,  are 
instinctively  Pagans,  food  of  war 
and  holidays,  making  a  god  of  each 
saint,  adoring  the  Yirgin  under  a 
hundred  different  forms,  digging  up 
the  old  Aztec  idols,  placing  them  in 
all  the  Mexican  churches,  and  offer 
ing  them  worship  under  the  charac 
teristic  denomination  of  Santes  anti- 
guos,  or  ancient  saints. 

What  can  be  said  after  this? 
Simply  that  the  Hispano- Americans 
never  understood  the  religion  they 


were  compelled  to  profess ;  that  they 
care  but  very  little  for  it,  and  in 
their  hearts  cling  to  their  old  wor 
ship  in  the  terrific  proportion  of  the 
native  to  the  European  population, 
that  is  to  say  two-thirds  to  one. 
Heace  the  demoralization  of  the 
masses,  which  is  justly  complained 
of,  but  is  the  fault  of  those  persons 
who,  at  the  outset,  believed  they 
could  establish  the  religion  of  Christ 
in  their  countries  by  fire  and  sword 
— a  system,  we  are  bound  to  add, 
scrupulously  followed  by  the  Span 
ish  clergy,  up  to  the  Proclamation 
of  the  Independence  of  the  colonies. 

The  Convent,  of  the  Bernardines 
is  situated  but  a  short  distance  from 
the  Paseo  de  Bucarelli.  Not  one 
of  the  religious  communities  for 
women  scattered  over  Mexico  is  so 
rich  as  this  one ;  for  the  kings  of 
Spain  and  nobles  of  ihehighest  rank 
gave  it  large  endowments,  which,  in 
the  course  of  time,  have  grown  into 
an  immense  fortune. 

The  vast  site  occupied  by  the 
Convent  of  the  Bernardines,  the 
thick  walls  that  surround  it,  and  the 
numerous  domes  that  crown  it,  suffi 
ciently  indicate  the  importance  it 
enjoys  at  the  present  day. 

Like  all  the  Mexican  convents, 
and  especially  that  at  San  Francisco^ 
to  which  it  bears  a  distant  resem 
blance,  the  Convent  of  the  Bernard- 
iues  is  defended  by  thick  walls, 
flanked  by  massive  buttresses,  which 
give  it  the  appearance  of  a  fortress. 
Still  the  peaceful  belfries,  and  their 
cupolas  of  enamelled  porcelain  cov 
ering  so  many  chapels,  allow  the 
pious  destination  of  the  edifice  to  be 
recognized.  An  immense  paved 
court  leads  to  the  principal  chapel, 
which  is  adorned  with  a  luxury 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  form  an 
idea  of  in  our  skeptical  Europe. 

Behind  this  first  court  is  the  space 
reserved  for  the  nuns,  consisting  of 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


95 


cloisters,  adorned  with  pic 
tures  fey  old  masters,  and  white 
jasper  basins  from  which  limpid 
fou.Btsins  rise.  Next  come  immense 
haeptas  with  umbrageous  walks, 
wideieourt-yards,  a  rich  and  valuable 
library  in  which  the  scientific  wealth 
of  Mexico  lies  buried,  eight  spa 
cious,  comfortable,  and  airy  dormi 
tories,  four  hundred  cells  for  the 
niiEis,  and  a  refectory  in  which  four 
.hundred  guests  can  sit  without 
^crowding. 

On  the  day  when  we  introduce 
the  reader  into  the  Convent  of  the 
Bernardines,  at  about  five  in  the 
evening,  three  persons,  collected  in 
a  leafy  arbor,  almost  at  the  end  of 
the  garden,  were  talking  together 
with  considerable  animation. 

Of  these  persons,  one,  the  eldest, 
was  a  nun,  while  the  other  two, 
girls  of  from  sixteen  to  eighteen 
years  of  age,  wore  the  garb  of 
novices. 

The  first  was  the  Mother  Superior 
of  the  convent,  a  lady  of  about  fifty 
years  of  age,  with  delicate  and  aris 
tocratic  features,  gentle  manners, 
and  noble  and  majestic  demeanor, 
whose  face  displayed  kindness  and 
intelligence. 

The  second  was  Dona  Anita;  we 
will  not  draw  her  portrait,  for  the 
reader  has  long  been  acquainted 
with  her.*  The  poor  girl,  however, 
was  pale  and  white  as  a  corpse,  her 
fever- parched  eyes  were  not  easy, 
fixed  on  any  object,  and  she  looked 
about  her  hurriedly  and  desperately. 

The  third  was  Dona  Helena  Kal- 
lier,  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed  girl, 
with  a  saucy  look,  whose  velvety 
cheeks,  and  noble  and  well-defined 
features,  revealed  the  candor  and 
innocence  of  youth,  combined  with 
the  laughing  expressions  of  a  boarder 
spoiled  by  an  indulgent  governess. 

*  See  "Tiger  Slayer."     Same  publishers. 


Dona  Helena  was  standing  a  little 
outside  the  arbor,  leaning  against  a 
tree,  and  seemed  like  a  vigilant 
sentry  carefully  watching  lest  the 
conversation  between  the  Mother 
Superior  and  her  companion  should 
be  disturbed. 

Dona  Anita,  seated  on  a  stone 
bench  by  the  side  of  the  Abbess, 
with  her  hand  in  the  elder  lady's, 
and  her  head  resting  on  her  shoulder, 
was  speaking  to  her  in  a  faltering 
voice  and  broken  sentences  which 
found  difficulty  in  passing  her  parted 
lips,  while  the  tears  silently  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  which  suffering 
had  rendered  pale. 

"  My  kind  mother,"  she  said,  and 
her  voice  was  harmonious  as  the 
sigh  of  an  ^Eolian  harp,  "I  know 
not  how  to  thank  you  for  your  in 
exhaustible  kindness  towards  me. 
Alas !  you  are  at  present  my  only 
friend ;  why  may  I  not  be  allowed 
to  remain  always  by  your  side?  I. 
should  be  so  glad  to  take  my  vows 
and  pass  my  life  in  this  convent 
under  your  benevolent  protection." 

"My  dear  child,"  the  Abbess  said 
gently,  "  God  is  great,  his  power  is 
infinite ;  hence,  why  despair  ?  Alas ! 
doubt  leads  to  denial ;  you  are  still 
almost  a  child.  Who  knows  what 
joy  and  happiness  the  future  may 
still  have  in  store  for  you  ?" 

The  maiden  gave  a  heavy  sigh. 
"Alas!"  she  murmured,  "the  future 
no  longer  exists  for  me,  my  kind 
mother;  a  poor  orphan,  abandoned 
without  protection  to  the  power  of 
an  unnatural  relation,  I  must  endure 
fearful  tortures,  and,  under  his  iron 
yoke,  lead  a  life  of  suffering  and 
grief." 

"Child,"  the  Abbess  said,  with 
gentle  sternness,  "do  not  blaspheme ; 
you  are  still  ignorant,  I  repeat,  of 
what  the  future  may  have  in  store 
for  you.  You  are  ungrateful  at  this 
moment — ungrateful  and  selfish," 


96 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"I  ungrateful!  holy  mother!"  the 
maiden  objected. 

"  Yes,  you  are  ungrateful,  Anita, 
to  us  and  to  yourself.  Do  you  con 
sider  it  nothing,  after  the  frightful 
misfortune  that  burst  on  you,  to 
have  returned  to  this  convent  in 
which  your  childhood  was  spent, 
and  to  have  found  among  us  that 
family  which  the  world  refused  you? 
Is  it  nothing  to  have  near  you  hearts 
that  pity  you,  and  voices  that  in 
cessantly  urge  you  to  have  courage?" 

"  Courage,  sister,"  Dona  Helena's 
sweet  voice  said  at  this  moment, 
like  a  soft  echo. 

The  maiden  hid  her  lovely  tear- 
bedewed  face  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Mother  Superior. 

"Pardon  me,  mother,"  she  con 
tinued,  "pardon  me,  but  I  am 
crushed  by  this  struggle,  which  I 
have  carried  on  so  long  without 
hope.  The  courage  you  attempt  to 
give  me  cannot,  in  spite  of  my  ef 
forts,  penetrate  to  my  heart;  for  I 
have  the  fatal  conviction  that,  what 
ever  you  may  do,  you  will  not  suc 
ceed  in  preventing  the  frightful 
misfortune  suspended  over  my  head." 

"Let  us  reason  a  little,  my  child, 
like  sensible  persons ;  up  to  the 
present,  at  least,  we  have  succeeded 
in  .concealing  from  everybody  the 
happy  return  of  your  senses." 

"  Happy  !"  she  sighed. 

l<  Yes,  happy;  for  with  the  intellect 
faith,  that  is  to  say,  strength  returned 
to  you.  Well,  while  your  guardian 
believes  you  still  insane,  and  is  com 
pelled,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  sus 
pend  his  schemes  with  reference  to 
you,  I  have  been  employing  ail  the 
influence  my  high  position  gives  me, 
and  my  family  connections.  I  have 
had  -a  petition  on  your  behalf  pre 
sented  to  tfo,e  President  of  the  Re 
public  by  sure  hands;  this  petition 
w  supported  -by  the  greatest  names 
in  Mexico,  and  I  ask  in  it  that  the 


marriage  with  which  you  are  menaced 
may  not  be  contracted  against  your 
will ;  in  a  word  I  ask  that  your 
guardian  may  be  prevented  taking 
aay  steps  till  you  are  in  a  proper 
condition  to  say  yes  or  no." 

"  Have  you  really  done  that,  my 
good  mother?"  the  maiden  ex 
claimed,  as  she  threw  her  arms  in 

real  delight  round  the  elder  lady's 

i  J 

neck. 

"Yes,  I  have  done  so,  my  child, 
and  I  am  expecting  every  moment 
a  reply,  which  I  hope  will  be  favor 
able." 

"Oh,  mother,  my  real  mother,  if 
that  succeeds  I  shall  be  saved." 

"  Do  not  go  from  one  extreme  to 
the  other,  my  child  ;  all  is  uncertain 
yet,  and  heaven  alone  knows  wheth 
er  we  shall  be  successful." 

"  Oh,  God  will  not  abandon  a 
poor  orphan." 

"  God,  my  child,  chastens  those 
he  loves;  have  confidence  in  him, 
and  his  right  hand  will  be  extended 
over  you  to  sustain  you  in  adver- 
ity."  ' 

"Sister  [Redemption  is  corning 
this  way,  holy  mother,"  Dona  Hele 
na  said  at  this  moment. 

At  a  sign  from  the  Mother  Supe 
rior,  Dona  Anita  withdrew  to  the 
other  end  of  the  bench  on  which  she 
was  seated,  folded  her  arms  on  her 
chest,  and  let  her  head  droop. 

"Are  you  looking  for  our  mother, 
sister?"  Dona  Helena  asked  a  rather 
elderly  lay  sister,  who  was  looking 
to  the  right  and  left  as  if  really  seek 
ing  somebody. 

"  Yes,  sister,"  the  lay  sister  an 
swered,  "I  wish  to  deliver  a  mes 
sage  with  which  I  am  entrusted  for 
our  mother." 

"Then  enter  this  arbor,  sister,  and 
you  will  find  her  reposing  there." 

The  lay  sister  entered  the  arbor, 
approached  the  Mother  Superior, 
stopped  modestly  three  paces  from 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


97 


her,  folded  her  arms  on  her  breast, 
looked  down  respectfully,  and  wait 
ed  till  she  was  spoken  to. 

"  What  do  you  desire,  daughter  ?" 
the  Mother  Superior  asked  her.  t 

"Your  blessing,  in  the  first  place, 
holy  mother,"  the  lay  sister  answered. 

"I  can  give  it  you, daughter ;  and 
now  what  message,  have  you  for 
me?" 

"Holy  mother,  a  gentleman  of  lofty 
bearing,  called  Don  Serapio  de  la 
Eonda,  wishes  to  speak  with  you 
privately ;  the  sister  porter  took  him 
into  the  parlor,  where  he  is  waiting 
for  you." 

"I  will  be  with  him  directly, 
daughter;  tell  the  sister  porter  to 
apologize  in  my  name  to  the  gentle 
man,  if  I  keep  him  waiting  longer 
than  I  like,  owing  to  my  advanced 
age.  Go  on,  I  follow  you." 

The  lay  sister  bowed  respectfully 
to  the  abbess,  and  went  away  to  de 
liver  the  message  with  which  she 
was  entrusted.  The  abbess  rose,  and 
the  two  girls  sprang  forward  to  sup 
port  her ;  but  she  stopped  them. 

"  Remain  here  till  the  Oracion, 
my  children,"  she  said  to  them, 
"  converse  together ;  but  be  prudent, 
and  do  not  let  yourselves  be  sur 
prized  ;  after  the  Oracion,  you  will 
come  and  converse  in  my  cell." 

Then  after  giving  Dona  Anita  a 
parting  kiss,  the  Mother  Superior 
went  away,  sorely  troubled  in  mind 
at  this  visit  from  a  man  she' did  not 
know,  and  whose  name  she  now 
heard  for  the  first  time.  When  she 
entered  the  parlor,  the  abbess  ex 
amined  with  a  hasty  glance  the  per 
son  who  asked  to  see  her,  and  who, 
on  perceiving  her,  rose  from  his 
chair,  and  bowed  to  her  respectfully. 
This  first  glance  was  favorable  to 
the  stranger,  in  whom  the  reader  has 
doubtless  already  recognized  Valen 
tine  Guillois. 

"  Pray,  resume  your  seat,  cabal- 


lero,"  the  abbess  said  to  him,  "if 
your  conversation  is  to  last  any  time, 
we  shall  talk  more  comfortably  when 
sitting." 

Valentine  bowed,  offered  the  lady 
a  chair,  and  then  returned  to  his 
own. 

"  Senor  Don  Serapio  de  la  Honda 
was  announced  to  me,"  the  lady  con 
tinued  after  a  short  silence. 

"I  arn  that  gentleman,  madam," 
Valentine  said  courteously. 

"  I-  am  at  your  orders,  caballero, 
and  ready  to  listen  to  any  commu 
nication  you  may  have  to  make." 

"  Madam,  I  have  nothing  personal 
to  say  to  you;  I  am  merely  com 
missioned  by  the  Minister  of  the 
Home  Department  to  deliver  you 
this  letter,  to  which  I  have  a  few 
words  to  add." 

While  uttering  this  sentence  with 
exquisite  politeness,  Valentine  of 
fered  the  abbess  a  letter  bearing  the 
ministerial  arms. 

"Pray  open  the  letter,  madam," 
he  added,  on  seeing  that,  through 
politeness,  she  held  it  in  her  hand 
unopened,  "you  must  render  your 
self  acquainted  with  its  contents  in 
order  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
the  words  I  have  to  add." 

The  abbess,  who  in  her  heart  was 
impatient  to  know  what  the  minis 
ter  had  to  say  to  her,  offered  no  ob 
jection  and  broke  the  seal  of  the  let 
ter,  which  she  hurriedly  perused. 
On  reading  it  a  lively  expression  of 
joy  lit  up  her  face. 

"  Then,''  she  exclaimed,  "  his  ex 
cellency  deigns  to  grant  my  re 
quest?" 

"Yes,  madam;  you  remain,  until 
fresh  orders,  responsible  for  your 
young  charge.  You  have  only  to 
deal  with  the  minister  in  the  matter ; 
and,"  he  added,  with  a  purposed 
stress  upon  the  words,  "  in  the  event 
of  General  Guerrero,  the  guardian 
of  Dona  Anita,  trying  to  force  you 


98 


THE'   RED    TRACK. 


into  surrendering  her  to  him,  you 
are  authorized  to  conceal  the  young 
lady,  who  is  for  so  many  reasons  an 
object  of  interest,  in  any  house  of 
the  order  you  please." 

"  Oh,  senor,"  she  answered,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears  of  joy,  "  pray 
thank  his  excellency  in  my  name  for 
the  act  of  justice  he  has  deigned  to 
perform  in  favor  of  this  unfortunate 
young  lady." 

"  I  will  have  that  honor,  madam," 
Valentine  said,  as  he  arose;  "and 
now  that  I  have  delivered  my  mes 
sage,  permit  me  to  take  leave  of  you, 
while  congratulating  myself  that  I 
was  selected  by  his  Excellency  the 
Minister  to  be  his  intermediary 
with  you." 

At  the  moment  when  Valentine 
left  the  convent,  Carnero  entered  it, 
accompanied  by  a  monk,  whose 
hood  was  pulled  down  over  his  face. 
The  hunter  and  the  capataz  ex 
changed  a  side  glance,  but  did  not 
speak. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   CONFESSOR. 

MEXICO,  as  we  have  already 
stated,  was.  after  the  conquest, 
completely  rebuilt  on  the  origi 
nal  plan,  so  that,  at  the  present 
day,  it  offers  nearly  the  same  sight 
as  struck  Cortez  when  he  entered 
it  for  the  first  time.  The  Plaza 
Mayor,  especially,  some  years  back, 
before  the  French  innovations,  more 
or  less  good,  were  introduced,  of 
fered  towards  evening  a  most  pic 
turesque  scene. 

This  immense  square  is  bounded 
on  one  side  by  the  Portales  de 
Mercaderos  ;  heavy  arches  supported 
on  one  side  by  immense  stones,  and 


on  the  other  by  pilasters,  at  the 
foot  of  which  are  the  alacenas  or 
shops. 

The  ayuntamiento,  the  president's 
palace,  the  cathedral,  the  sagrario, 
the  portal  de  las  ftores,  an  immense 
bazaar  for  merchandize,  and  the 
Parian,  also  a  bazaar,  complete,  or 
rather  completed,  at  the  period 
when  our  history  takes  place,  the 
fourth  side  of  the  square, for  recently 
great  changes  have  taken  place, 
and  the  Parian.,  among  other  build 
ings,  has  disappeared.  The  hand 
somest  streets,  such  as  the  Tacuba, 
Mint,  Monterilla,  Santo  Domingo, 
etc.,  debouche  on  the  great  square. 

The  cathedral  stands  exactly  on 
the  site  of  the  ancient  great  Mexican 
Teocali,  all  the  buildings  of  which 
it  has  absorbed  ;  unfortunately  this 
building,  which  is  externally  splen 
did,  does  not  come  up  internally 
to  the  idea,  formed  of  it,  for  its 
ornaments,  are  in  bad  taste,  poor  and 
paltry. 

Between  five  and  six  in  the  even 
ing,  or  -a  few  minutes  before  Ora- 
cion,  the  appearance  of  the  Plaza 
Mayor  "becomes  really  fairy-like. 
The  crowd  of  strollers — a  strange 
crowd,  were  there  every  one — flocks 
up  from  all  sides  at  once,  composed 
of  horsemen,  pedestrians,  officers, 
priests,  soldiers,  campesinos,  leperos, 
Indian  women  in  red  petticoats, 
ladies  of  fashion  in  their  sayas,  and 
all  the  people  come,  go,  cross  and 
jostle  each  other,  mingling  their 
conversation  with  the  cries  of  chil 
dren,  the  vociferations  of  the  leperos, 
who  torment  purchasers  with  their 
impetuosity,  and  the  shrill  appeals 
of  the  sellers  of  tamales  and  quera- 
tero,  crouching  in  the  shade  of  the 
porticos. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  Oracion, 
a  Franciscan  monk,  recognizable 
by  his  blue  gown,  and  silken  cord 
round  his  waist,  and  whose  large 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


99 


white  felt  hat,  pulled  down  over  the 
eyes,  almost  completely  concealed 
his  face,  came  from  the  Calb  Mon- 
terilla,  and  entered  the  Plaza  Mayor. 

This  man,  who  was  tall  and  ap 
parently  powerfully  built,  walked 
slowly,  with  hanging  head  and  arms 
crossed  on  his  chest,  as  if  plunged 
iu  serious  reflection.  Instead  of  en 
tering  the  thronged  Portales,  he 
crossed  the  square  and  proceeded 
towards  the  Parian,  which  was  very 
lively  at  the  moment,  for  the  Parian 
was  a  bazaar,  resembling  the  Temple 
of  Paris,  and  was  visited  at  this 
period  by  persons,  the  leanness  of 
whose  purses  only  allowed  them  to 
purchase  here  their  jewellery  and 
smart  clothing,  which,  in  any  other 
part  of  the  city  would  have  been 
much  too  expensive  for  them. 

Not  attending  to  the  noise  or 
movement  around  him,  the  Francis 
can  leant  his  shoulder  against  the 
stall  of  an  evangelista,  or  public 
writer,  and  looked  absently  and 
wearily  across  the  square.  He  did 
not  remain  long  in  this  position, 
however,  for  just  after  he  had  reached 
the  Parian,  the  Oracion  began.  At 
the  first  peal  of  the  cathedral  bells, 
all  the  noises  ceased  in  the  square ; 
the  crowd  stopped,  heads  were  un 
covered,  and  each  muttered  a  short 
prayer  in  a  low  voice. 

At  the  last  stroke  of  the  Oracion, 
a  hand  was  laid  on  the  Franciscan's 
shoulder,  while  a  voice  whispered 
in  his  ear — 

"  You  are  exact  to  the  rendezvous, 
Senor  Padre." 

"I  am  performing  my  duty,  my 
son,"  the  monk  at  once  answered, 
turning  round. 

In  the  person  who  addressed  him 
he  doubtless  recognized  a  friend,  for 
he  offered  him  his  hand  by  a  spon 
taneous  movement. 

"Are  you  still  resolved  to  attempt 


the   adventure?"  the  first  speaker 
continued. 

"  More  than  ever,  senor." 

"  Bear  in  mind  that  you  must  not 
mention  my  name ;  we  do  not  know 
each  other;  you  are  a  monk  from 
the  San  Franciscan  monastery, 
whom  I  fetched  to  confess  a  young 
novice  at  the  Convent  of  the  Ber- 
nardines.  It  is  understood  that  you 
do  not  know  who  I  am?" 

"  My  brother,  we  poor  monks  are 
at  the  service  of  the  afflicted ;  our 
duty  orders  us  to  help  them  when 
they  claim  our  support ;  as  we  have 
no  name  for  society,  we  are  forbidden 
to  ask  that  of  those  who  summon 
us." 

"Excellently  spoken,"  the  other 
replied,  repressing  a  smile.  "You 
are  a  monk  according  to  my  own 
heart.  I  see  that  I  am  not  deceived 
with  respect  to  you ;  come,  then,  my 
father,  we  must  not  keep  the  person 
waiting  who  is  expecting  us." 

The  Franciscan  bowed  his  assent, 
placed  himself  on  the  right  of  his 
singular  friend,  and  both  went  away 
from  the  Parian,  where  the  noise 
had  become  louder  than  ever,  after 
the  angelos  had  ceased  ringing. 
The  two  men  passed  unnoticed 
through  the  crowd,  and  walked  in 
the  direction  of  the  Convent  of  the 
Bernardines,  going  along  silently, 
side  by  side. 

We  have  said  that  at  the  convent- 
gate  they  passed  Don  Serapio  de  la 
Honda,  that  is  to  say,  Valentine 
Guillois,  and  that  the  thr§e  men  ex 
changed  a  side  glance  full  of  mean 
ing.  The  sister-porter  made  no  ob 
jection  to  admitting  the  Franciscan  ; 
and  his  guide,  so  soon  as  he  saw  hirn 
inside  the  convent,  took  leave  of  him 
after  exchanging  a  few  common-place 
compliments  with  the  sister.  The 
latter  respectfully  led  the  monk  into 
a  parlor,  and  after  begging  him  to 


100 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


wait  a  moment,  went  away  to  in 
form  the  Mother  Superior  of  the 
arrival  of  the  confessor  whom  the 
young  novice  had  requested  to  see. 

We  will  leave  the  Franciscan  for 
a  little  while  to  his  meditations,  and 
return  to  the  two  young  ladies  whom 
we  left  in  the  garden.  So  soon  as 
the  abbess  had  withdrawn,  they 
drew  closer  together,  Dona  Helena 
taking  the  seat  on  the  bench  pre 
viously  occupied  by  the  abbess. 

"My  dear  Anita,"  she  said,  "let 
me  profit  by  the  few  minutes  we 
are  left  alone  to  impart  to  you  the 
contents  of  a  letter  I  received  this 
morning ;  I  feared  that  I  should  be 
unable  to  do  so,  and  yet  it  seems  to 
me  that  what  I  have  to  tell  you  is 
most  important." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear 
Helena  ?  Does  the  letter  to  which 
you  refer  interest  me  ?" 

"I  cannot  positively  explain  to 
you,  but  it  will  be  sufficient  for  you 
to  know  that  my  brothers  are  very 
intimate  with  a  countryman  of  ours 
who  takes  the  greatest  interest  in 
you,  and  what  I  have  to  tell  you 
relates  to  this  Frenchman." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Dona 
Anita,  pausing.  "I  never  knew 
but  one  Frenchman,  and  I  have 
told  you  the  sad  story  which  was 
the  cause  of  all  the  misfortunes  that 
overwhelmed  me.  But  the  French 
man  whom  my  father  wished  me  to 
marry  died  under  frightful  circum 
stances;  then  who  can  this  gentle 
man  be  who  takes  so  lively  an  in 
terest  in  me — do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Very  slightly,"  the  young  lady 
answered  with  a  blush,  "but  suf 
ficiently  to  be  able  to  assure  you 
that  he  possesses  a  noble  heart.  He 
does  not  know  you  personally ; 
but,"  she  added,  as  she  drew  a  letter 
from  her  bosom,  and  opened  it, 
"  this  is  the  passage  in  my  brother's 


letter  which  refers  to  you  and  him. 
Shall  I  read  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Pray  read  it,  my  dear  Helena, 
for  I  know  the  friendship  you  and 
your  family  entertain  for  me ;  hence, 
it  is  with,  the  greatest  pleasure  I  re 
ceive  news  of  your  brothers." 

"Listen,  then,"  the  young  lady 
continued,  and  she  read,  after  seek 
ing  for  the  passage — 

"'Valentine  begs  rne,  dear  sister, 
to  ask  you  to  tell  your  friend' — that 
is  you,"  she  said,  breaking  off. 

"Go  on,"  Dona  Anita  answered, 
whose  curiosity  had  been  aroused  by 
the  name  Helena  had  pronounced, 
though  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
know  who  that  person  was. 

"'To  tell  your  friend,'  Dona 
Helena  continued,  'that  the  con 
fessor  she  asked  for  will  come  to 
the  convent  this  very  day  after  the 
Oracion.  Dona  Anita  must  arm 
herself  with  courage,  which  is  as 
necessary  to  endure  joy  as  grief,  for 
she  will  learn  to-day  some  news 
possessing  immense  importance  for 
the  future.'  That  is  underlined," 
the  young  lady  added,  as  she  bent 
over  to  her  friend,  and  pointed  to 
the  sentence  with  the  tip  of  her  rosy 
finger. 

''  That  is  strange,"  Dona  Anita 
murmured.  "Alas!  what  news  can 
I  learn  ?" 

"Who  knows?"  said  her  young 
companion,  and  then  continued — 
"'Before  all,  Dona  Anita  must  be 
prudent;  and  however  extraordinary 
what  she  hears  may  appear  to  her, 
she  must  be  careful  to  conceal  the 
effect  produced  by  this  revelation, 
for  she  must  not  forget  that  if  she 
have  devoted  friends,  she  is  closely 
watched  by  all-powerful  enemies, 
and  the  slightest  imprudence  would 
hopelessly  neutralize  all  the  efforts 
that  we  are  making  to  save  her. 
You  cannot,  my  dear  sister,  lay  suf- 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


101 


ficient  stress  on  this  recommenda 
tion.'  The  rest,"  the  maiden  added, 
with  a  smile,  "only  relates  to  my 
self,  and  it  is,  therefore,  unnecessary 
for  me  to  read  it  to  you." 

And  she  refolded  the  letter,  which 
disappeared  in  her  dress  again. 

"And  now,  my  darling,  you  are 
warned,"  she  said;  "so  be  prudent." 

"  Good  heaven  !  I  do  not  under 
stand  the  letter  at  all,  nor  do  I  know 
the  Valentine  to  whom  it  alludes. 
It  was  by  your  advice  that  I  asked 
for  a  confessor." 

"That  is  to  say,  by  my  brother's 
advice,  who,  as  you  know,  Anita, 
placed  me  here,  not  merely  because 
I  love  you  as  a  sister,  but  also  to 
support  and  encourage  you." 

"And  I  am  grateful  both  to  you 
and  him  for  it,  dear  Helena;  if  I 
had  not  you  near  me,  in  spite  of  the 
friendship  our  worthy  and  kind 
mother  condescends  to  grant  me,  I 
should  long  ago  have  succumbed  to 
my  grief." 

"  The  question  is  not  about  me  at 
this  moment,  my  darling,  but  solely 
'  about  yourself.  However  obscure  . 
and  mysterious  my  brother's  recom 
mendation  may  be,  I  know  him  to 
be  too  earnest  and  too  truly  kind  for 
rne  to  neglect  it.  Hence  I  cannot 
find  language  strong  enough  to  urge 
you  to  prudence." 

"I  seek  in  vain  to  guess  what  the 
news  is  to  which  he  refers ;  and  I 
acknowledge  that  I  feel  a  secret 
repugnance  to  see  the  confessor  he 
announces  to  me.  Alas!  I  have 
every  thing  to  fear,  and  nothing  to 
hope  now." 

"  Silence,"  Dona  Helena  said, 
quietly.  "  I  hear  the  sound  of  foot 
steps  in  the  walk  leading  to  this 
arbor.  Some  one  is  coming.  So 
we  must  not  let  ourselves  be  sur 
prised." 

In  fact,  almost  at  the  same  mo 
ment  the  lay  sister,  who  had  already 


informed  the  Mother  Superior  of  the 
arrival  of  Don  Serapio  de  la  Eonda, 
appeared  at  the  entrance  of  the  ar 
bor. 

"Senorita,"  she  said,  addressing 
Dona  Helena,  "our  holy  mother 
abbess  wishes  to  speak  to  you  as 
well  as  to  Dona  Anita  without  de 
lay.  She  is  waiting  for  you  in  her 
private  cell  in  the  company  of  a 
holy  Franciscan  monk." 

The  maidens  exchanged  a  glance, 
and  a  transient  flush  appeared  on 
Dona  Anita's  pale  cheeks. 

"We  will  follow  you,  sister," 
Dona  Helena  replied.  The  maidens 
rose ;  Dona  Helena  passed  her  arm 
through  her  companion's,  and  stoop 
ing  down,  whispered  in  her  ear — 

"Courage,  Querida." 

They  followed  the  lay  sister,  who 
led  them  to  the  Mother  Superior's 
cell,  and  discreetly  withdrew  on 
reaching  the  door.  The  abbess  ap 
peared  to  be  talking  rather  excitedly 
with  the  Franciscan  monk ;  but,  on 
seeing  the  two  girls,  she  ceased 
speaking,  and  rose. 

"  Come,  my  child,"  she  said,  as 
she  held  out  her  arms  to  Dona  Ani 
ta,  "come  and  thank  God  who,  in 
his  infinite  goodness,  has  deigned  to 
perform  a  miracle  on  your  behalf." 

The  maiden  stopped  through  in 
voluntary  emotion,  and  looked  wildly 
around  her.  At  a  sign  from  the 
abbess  the  monk  rose,  and  throwing 
back  his  hood  at  the  same  time  as 
he  fell  on  his  knees  before  the 
maiden,  he  said  to  her  in  a  voice 
faltering  with  emotion — 

"Anita,  do  you  recognize  me  ?" 

At  the  sound  of  this  voice,  whose 
sympathetic  notes  made  all  the 
fibres  of  her  heart  vibrate,  the 
maiden  suddenly  drew  herself  back, 
tottered  and  fell  into  the  arms  of 
Dona  Helena,  as  she  shrieked  with 
an  accent  impossible  to  describe — 

"Martial!  oh,  Martial?" 


102 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


A  sob  burst  from  her  overcharged 
bosom,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 
She  was  saved,  since  the  immense 
joy  she  so  suddenly  experienced 
had  not  killed  her.  The  Tigrero, 
as  weak  as  the  woman  he  loved, 
could  only  find  tears  to  express  all 
his  feelings. 

For  some  minutes  the  abbess  and 
Dona  Helena  trembled  lest  these 
two  beings,  already  so  tried  by  mis 
fortune,  would  not  find  within  them 
selves  the  necessary  strength  to 
resist  so  terrible  an  emotion  ;  but  a 
powerful  re-action  suddenly  took 
place  in  the  tiger-slayer's  mind ;  he 
sprang  up  at  one  leap,  and  seized  in 
his  arms  the  maiden,  who,  on  her 
side,  was  making  efforts  to  rush  to 
him — 

"Anita,  dear  Anita,"  he  cried,  "I 
have  found  you  again  at  last;  oh, 
now  no  human  power  will  be  able  to 
separate  us !" 

"Never,  never!"  she  murmured, 
as  she  let  her  head  fall  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder ;  "  Martial,  my 
beloved  Martial,  protect  me,  save 
me!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  save  you ;  angel 
of  my  life,"  he  exclaimed,  looking 
up  defiantly  to  heaven ;  "we  will  be 
united,  I  swear  it  to  you." 

"Is  that  the  prudence  you  pro 
mised  me? "the  abbess  said,  inter 
posing;  "remember  the  perils  of 
every  description  that  surround  you, 
and  the  implacable  foes  who  have 
sworn  your  destruction ;  lock  up  in 
your  heart  these  feelings  which,  if 
revealed  before  one  of  the  countless 
spies  who  watch  you,  would  cause 
your  death  and  that,  perhaps,  of  the 
poor  girl  you  love." 

"Thank  you,  madam,"  the  Tig 
rero  replied ;  "  thank  you  for  having 
reminded  me  of  the  part  I  must 
play  for  a  few  days  longer.  If  I 
forgot  it  for  a  few  seconds,  subdued 
by  the  passion  that  devours  my 


heart,  I  will  henceforth  adhere  to  it 
carefully.  Do  not  fear  lest  I  should 
imperil  the  happiness  that  is  pre 
paring  for  me;  no,  I  will  restrain 
my  feelings,  and  let  myself  be 
guided  by  the  counsel  of  the  sincere 
friends  to  whom  I  owe  the  moments 
of  ineffable  happiness  I  am  now  en 
joying-" 

"Oh!  I  now  understand,"  Dona 
Anita  exclaimed,  "the  mysterious 
hints  given  me.  Alas !  misfortune 
made  me  suspicious ;  so  forgive  me, 
heaven,  forgive  me,  holy  mother, 
and  you  too,  Helena,  my  kind  and 
faithful  friend.  I  did  not  dare  hope, 
and  feared  a  snare." 

"I  forgive  you,  my  poor  child," 
the  abbess  answered ;  "  who  could 
blame  you  ?" 

Dona  Helena  pressed  her  friend 
to  her  heart  without  saying  a  word. 

"  Oh,  now  our  misfortunes  are  at 
an  end,  Anita,"  the  Tigrero  ex 
claimed,  passionately;  "we  have 
friends  who  will  not  abandon  us  in 
the  supreme  struggle  we  are  engag 
ing  in  with  our  common  enemy. 
.  God,  who  has  hitherto  done  every 
thing  for  us,  will  not  leave  his  work 
incomplete ;  have  faith  in  Him,  my 
beloved." 

"Martial,"  the  maiden  replied 
with  a  firmess  that  astonished  her 
hearers,  "I  was  weak  because  I  was 
alone,  but  now  that  I  know  you  live, 
and  are  near  me  to  support  me,  oh ! 
if  I  were  to  fall  dead  at  the  feet  of 
my  persecutor,  I  would  not  be  false 
to  the  oath  I  took  to  be  yours  alone. 
Believing  you  dead,  I  remained 
faithful  to  your  memory ;  but  now, 
if  persecution  assailed  me,  I  should 
find  the  strength  to  endure  it." 

This  scene  would  have  been  pro 
longed,  but  prudence  urged  that  the 
abbess  should  break  it  off  as  soon  as 
possible.  Dona  Anita,  rendered 
strong  merely  by  the  nervous  ex 
citement  which  possessed  her,  soon 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


103 


felt  faint ;  she  could  scarcely  stand, 
and  Don  Martial  himself  felt  his 
energy  abandoning  him. 

The  separation  was  painful  be 
tween  these  two  beings  so  miracu 
lously  re-united  when  they  never 
expected  to  see  each  other  again; 
but  it  was  soothed  by  the  hope  of 
soon  meeting  again  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  Mother  Superior,  who 
had  done  so  much  for  them,  and 
whose  inexhaustible  kindness  they 
had  entirely  gained  for  their  cause. 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had 
entered  the  convent,  Dona  Anita 
smiled  through  her  tears,  as  she 
offered  up  to  heaven  her  nightly 
prayers.  Don  Martial  went  off 
rapidly  to  tell  Valentine  of  what 
had  taken  place  at  this  interview, 
which  he  had  so  long  desired. 
Dona  Helena,  however,  retired  pen 
sively  to  her  cell ;  the  maiden  was 
dreaming — of  what? 

No  one  could  have  said,  and  pro 
bably  she  herself  was  ignorant ; 
but,  for  some  days  past,  an  obtrusive 
thought  unnecessarily  occupied  her 
mind,  and  constantly  troubled  the 
calm  mirror  in  which  her  virgin 
thoughts  were  reflected. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  STRUGGLE. 

AMBITION  is  the  most  terrible  and 
deceptions  of  all  human  passions,  in 
the  sense  that  it  completely  dries  up 
the  heart,  and  can  never  be  satisfied. 

General  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero 
was  not  one  of  those  coldly  cruel 
men,  solely  governed  by  the  instinct 
of  art,  or  whom  the  smell  of  blood 
intoxicates;  but,  with  the  implacable 
logic  of  ambitious  persons,  he  went 


direct  to  his  object,  cnrerth rowing, 
without  regret  or  remorse,  all  the 
oba  tacles  that  barred  his  way  to  the 
object  he  had  sworn  to  reach,  even  if 
he  -were  compelled  to  wade  in  blood 
up  to  his  knees,  and  trample  oaa  a 
pile  of  corpses.  He  only  regarded 
men  as  pawns  in  the  great  game  of 
chests  he  was  playing,  and!  strove-  to 
justify  himself,  and  stifle  the  warn 
ings  of  his  terrified  conscience,,  by 
the  "barbarous  axiom  employed  by 
the  ambitious  in  all  ages-  and  all 
countries,  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means. 

His  secret  ambition,  which,,  ©o  a 
day  of  pretended  franknesa>.  be-  had. 
partly  revealed  in  an  interview  with.- 
the  Count  de  Prdbois  Craned  at 
Hermosillo,  was  not  to  render-  him 
self  independent,  but  simply  to  be 
elected,  by  means  of  a  -well-arracged 
pronunciarniento,  President  G£  the 
Mexican  Republic. 

It  was  not  through  hatred!  that 
General  Guerrero  was  so  ob&ticaiely 
bent  on  destroying  the  couni..  Am 
bitious  men,  who  are  ever  ready  to 
sacrifice  their  feelings  to  tae  inter 
ests  of  their  gloomy  machinations,, 
know  neither  hatred  nor  frijendahip.. 
Hence  we  must  seek  elsewhejse- the 
cause  of  the  judicial  murdes  of  the- 
count  which  was  so  implacably  car 
ried  out.  The  general  feared  the- 
count,  as  an  adversary  wbo>  would 
constantly  thwart  him  in.  Sonera,, 
where  the  first  meshes  of  the  aet  he- 
wished  to  throw  over  Mexico-  were- 
spun — an  adversary  ready  to  oppose- 
the  execution  of  his  plans  by  claim 
ing  the  due  performance  of  the-  arti 
cles  of  partnership — a  performance- 
which,  in  the  probable  eveat  of  an 
insurrection  excited  by  the  general,, 
would  have  become  impossible,  by 
plunging  the  country  for  a  length 
ened  period  into  a  state  of  crisis  and 
general  suspension  of  trade,  which 
would  have  been  most  hostile  to  the 


104 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


success  of  the  lofty  conceptions  of 
the  noble  French  adventurer.* 

But  the  count  had  scarce  fallen  on 
the  beach  of  Quay  mas  ere  the  gene:ral 
recognized  the  falseness  of  his  cal 
culations,  and  the  fault  he  had 
committed  in  sacrificing  him.  In 
fact  leaving  out  of  the  question  the 
death  of  his  daughter,  the  only  being 
for  whom  he  retained  in  some  cor 
ner  of  his  heart  a  little  of  that  fire 
which  heaven  illumes  in  all  parents 
for  their  children,  he  found  that  he 
had  exchanged  a  loyal  and  cautious 
adversary  for  an  obstinate  enemy — 
the  more  formidable  because,  caring 
for  nothing,  and  having  no  personal 
ambition,  he  would  sacrifice  every 
thing  without  hesitation  or  calcula 
tion  in  behalf  of  the  vengeance 
which  he  had  solemnly  vowed  to 
obtain  by  any  means,  over  the  still 
quivering  body  of  his  friend. 

This  implacable  enemy,  whom 
neither  seductioa  nor  intimidation 
could  arrest  or  even  draw  back,  was 
Valentine  Guillois. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the 
general  committed  a  graver  fault  than 
his  first  one — a  fault  which  was  fated 
to  have  incalculable  consequences 
for  him.  Being  very  imperfectly 
acquainted  with  Valentine  Guillois, 
unaware  of  his  inflexible  energy  of 
will,  and  ranking  him  in  his  mind 
with  those  wood-rangers,  the  Pariahs 
of  civilization,  who  have  only  cou 
rage  to  fire,  in  a  moment  of  despair, 
a  shot  from  behind  a  tree,  but  whose 
influence  was  after  all  insignificant, 
he  despised  him. 

Valentine  was  careful  not  to  dis 
sipate,  by  any  imprudent  step,  his 
enemy's  mistake,  or  even  arouse  his 
suspicions. 

At  the  time  of  the  Count  de  PrtJ- 
bois  Cranc^'s  first  expedition,  when 
all  seemed  to  smile  on  him,  and  his 

*  See  "  Goldseekers."    Same  publishers. 


followers  already  saw  the  complete 
success  of  their  bold  undertaking 
close  at  hand,  Valentine  had  been 
entrusted  by  his  friend  with  various 
important  operations  and  difficult 
missions  to  the  rich  rancheros  and 
hacienderos  of  the  province.  Val 
entine  had  performed  the  duties  his 
friend  confided  to  him  with  his  usual 
loyalty  and  uprightness  of  mind, 
and  had  been  so  thoroughly  appre 
ciated  by  the  persons  with  whom 
chance  had  brought  him  into  connec 
tion,  that  all  had  remained  on 
friendly  terms  with  him  and  given 
him  unequivocal  proofs  of  the  sin- 
cerest  friendship,  especially  upon  the 
death  of  the  count. 
•  It  only  depended  on  the  hunter's 
will  to  be  rich,  since  he  knew  an  al 
most  inexhaustible  placer ;  and  what 
the  wood-ranger  would  never  have  . 
consented  to  for  himself,  for  the  sake  * 
of  paltry  gain,  he  did  not  hesitate  to 
attempt  in  order  to  avenge  his  friend. 
Followed  by  Cururnilla,  Belhumeur, 
and  Black  Elk,  and  leading  a  recua 
of  ten  mules,  he  did  what  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  men  could  not  have 
succeeded  in  doing.  He  went  through 
Apacheria,  crossed  the  fearful  des 
ert  of  sand  in  which  the  bones  of 
the  hapless  companions  of  the  Mar 
quis  de  Lhorailles  were  bleaching, 
and  after  enduring  superhuman  fa 
tigue  and  braving  terrible  dangers, 
he  at  length  reached  the  placer.  But 
this  time  he  did  not  come  to  take  an 
insignificant  sum;  he  wanted  to  col 
lect  a  fortune  at  one  stroke. 

The  hunter  returned  with  his  ten 
mules  laden  with  gold.  He  knew 
that  he  was  beginning  a  struggle 
with  a  man  who  was  enormously 
rich,  and  wished  to  conquer  him 
with  his  own  weapons.  In  the  new 
world,  as  in  the  old,  money  is  the 
real  sinew  of  war,  and  Valentine 
would  not  imperil  the  success  of  his 
vengeance. 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


105 


On  returning  to  Guuymns,  he  re 
alized  his  fortune,  and  found  himself, 
in  a  single  day,  not  only  one  of  the 
richest,  but  the  richest  private  person 
in  Mexico,  although  it  is  a  country 
in  which  fortunes  attain  to  a  consid 
erable  amount.  Thus  the  gold  of 
the  placer,  which,  at  an  earlier  pe 
riod  had  served  to  organize  the  count's 
expedition,  and  make  him  believe 
for  a  moment  in  the  realization  of 
his  dreams,  was  about  to  serve  in 
avenging  him,  after  having  indi 
rectly  caused  his  death. 

Then  began  between  the  general 
and  the  hunter  a  secret  and  unceasing 
struggle,  the  more  terrible  through 
its  hidden  nature ;  and  the  general, 
struck  without  knowing  whence  the 
blows  dealt  his  ambition  came,  strug 
gled  vainly,  like  a  lion  caught  in  a 
snare,  while  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  discover  the  obstinate  enemy 
who  hunted  him  down. 

This  man,  who  had  hitherto  suc 
ceeded  in  every  thing — who,  during 
the  course  of  his  long  and  stormy 
political  career,  had  surmounted  the 
greatest  obstacles  and  forced  his  very 
detractors  to  admire  the  luck  that 
constantly  accompanied  his  wildest 
and  rashest  conceptions — suddenly 
saw  Fortune  turn  her  back  on  him 
with  such  rapidity — we  may  even 
say  brutality,  that  scarce  six  weeks 
after  the  execution  of  the  count,  he 
was  obliged  to  resign  his  office  of 
Military  Governor,  and  quit,  almost 
like  a  fugitive,  the  province  of  So- 
nora,  where  he  had  so  long  reigned 
as  a  master,  and  on  which  his  iron 
yoke  had  pressed  so  heavily. 

This  first  blow,  dealt  the  general 
in  the  midst  of  his  ambitious  aspi 
rations,  when  he  had  only  just  began 
to  recover  from  the  grief  his  daugh 
ter's  death  hud  caused  him,  was  the 
more  terrible  because  he  did  not 
know  to  whom  he  should  attribute 
his  downfall. 


Still,  he  did  not  long  remain  in 
doubt.  An  hour  before  his  depart 
ure  from  Hermosillo  he  received  a 
letter  in  which  he  was  informed,  in 
the  minutest  details,  of  the  oath  of 
vengeance  which  had  been  taken 
against  him,  and  of  the  steps  taken 
to  obtain  his  recall.  This  letter  was 
signed  "  Valentine  Guillois."  The 
hunter,  despising  darkness  and  mys 
tery,  tore  down  the  vail  that  covered 
him,  and  openly  challenged  his  foe 
by  manfully  telling  him  to  be  on  his 
guard. 

On  receiving  this  threatening  de 
claration  of  war,  the  general  fell  into 
an  extraordinary  passion,  the  more 
terrible  because  it  was  impotent,  and 
then,  when  his  mind  became  calm 
again,  and  he  began  reflecting,  he 
felt  frightened.  In  truth  the  man 
who  stood  so  boldly  before  him  as 
:s,n  enemy,  must  be  very  powerful 
;ind  certain  of  success  thus  to  dare 
:  md  defy  him. 

His  departure  from  Sonora  was  a 
( lisgraceful  flight,  in  which  he  tried. 
\  »y  craft  and  caution,  to  throw  out 
his  enemy;  but  the  meeting  at  th« 
Fort  of  the  Chichirneques,  a  meeting 
long  prepared  by  the  hunter,  proved 
to  him  that  he  was  unmasked  once 
ag;ain,  and  conquered  by  his  en 
emy. 

The  contemptuous  manner  in 
wl  lich  Valentine  dismissed  him  after 
his:  stormy  explanation  with  him, 
had  internally  filled  the  general  with 
terror.  What  sinister  projects  could 
the  man  be  meditating,  what  private 
vengeance  was  he  arranging,  that, 
when  he  held  him  quivering  in  his 
grasp,  he  allowed  his  foe  to  escape. 
and  refused  to  kill  him,  when  that 
would  have  been  so  easy  ?  what  tor 
ture  more  terrible  than  death  did  he 
intend  to  inflict  on  him? 

The  remainder  of  his  journey 
across  the  Rocky  Mountains,  as  far 
as  Mexico,  was  one  protracted  agony, 


106 


THE    EE  D    TE  ACK. 


during  which,  suffering  from  con 
stant  apprehension,  and  extreme  ner 
vous  excitement,  his  diseased  imag 
ination  inflicted  on  hirn  moral  tor 
ture  in  the  stead  of  which  any  phy 
sical  pain  would  have  been  wel 
come, 

The  loss  of  his  daughter's  corpse, , 
and  above  all,  the  death  of  his  fath-  - 
er's  old  comrade  in  arms,  the  only 
maa  ia  whom  he  put  faith,  and  who  • 
possessed  his  entire  confidence,  de-  • 
stroyed  his  energy,  and  for  several 
days  he  was  so  overwhelmed  by  this  ; 
double  misfortune,  that  he  longed . 
for  death. 

His  punishment  was  beginning.. 
But  General  Guerrero  was  one  of 
those  powerful  athletes  who  do  no  t 
allow  themselves  to  be  overcome  s  o 
easily;  they  may  totter  in  the  struggh  ;, 
and  roll  on  the  sand  of  the  arena,  bi  it 
they  always  rise  again  more  terribl  ie 
and  menacing  than  before.  His  r-  3- 
volted  pride  restored  his  expiring 
courage;  and  since  an  implacable 
warfare  was  declared  against  hii  n, 
he  swore  that  he  would  fight  to  fhe 
end,  whatever  the  consequences  i  or 
him  might  be. 

Moreover  two  months  had  elap;  jed 
since  his  arrival  in  Mexico,  and  his 
enemy  had  not  revealed  his  prese:  ace 
by  one  of  those  terrible  blows  which 
burst  like  a  clap  of  thunder  above 
his  head.  The  general  gradually 
began  supposing  that  the  hunter  had 
only  wished  to  force  him  to  abandon 
Sonora,  and  that,  in  despair  of  csjry- 
ing  out  his  plans  advantageous]  y  in 
a  city  like  Mexico,  he  was  prudently 
keeping  aloof,  and  if  he  had  not 
completely  renounced  his  vengeance, 
circumstances  at  any  rate,  indepen 
dent  of  his  will,  compelled  him  to 
defer  it 

The  general,  so  soon  as  he  was 
settled  in  the  capital  of  Mexico,  or 
ganized  a  large  band  of  highly  paid 
spies,  who  had  orders  to  be  con 


stantly  on  the  watch,  and  inform 
him  of  Valentine's  arrival  in  the 
city.  Thus  reassured  by  the  reports 
of  his  agents  he  continued  with  fe 
verish  ardor  the  execution  of  his 
dark  designs,  for  he  felt  convinced 
that  if  he  succeeded  in  attaining  his 
coveted  object,  the  hatred  of  the  man 
who  pursued  him  would  no  longer 
be  dangerous.  This  was  the  more 
probable,  because,  so  soon  as  he  held 
the  power  in  his  own  hands,  he 
would  easily  succeed  in  getting  rid 
of  an  enemy,  whom  his  position  as 
a  foreigner  isolated,  and  rendered  an 
object  of  dislike  to  the  populace. 

The  general,  lived  in  a  large  house 
in  the  Calle  de  Tacuba;  it  was  built 
by  one  of  his  ancestors,  and  con 
sidered  one  of  the  handsomest  in 
the  capital.  We  will  describe  in  a 
few  words  the  architecture  of  Mex 
ico,  for,  as  all  the  houses  are  built  I 
on  the  same  pattern,  or  nearly  so,  by 
knowing  one  it  is  easy  to  form  an 
idea  of  what  the  others  must  be. 

The  Mexican  architecture  greatly 
resembles  the  Arabic,  and  as  for  the 
mode  of  arranging  the  rooms,  it  is 
still  entirely  in  its  infancy;  but 
since  the  Proclamation  of  the  Inde 
pendence,  foreign  architects  have 
succeeded  in  most  of  the  great  towns, 
in  opening  side  doors  in  the  suites 
of  rooms,  which  formerly  only  com 
municated  with  one  another,  and 
hence  compelled  you  to  go  through 
a  bed-room  to  enter  a  dining-room, 
or  pass  through  a  kitchen  to  reach 
the  drawing-room. 

The  general's  house  was  composed 
of  four  buildings,  two  stories  in 
height,  and  with  terraced  roofs. 
Two  courts  separated  these  build 
ings,  and  an  awning  stretched  over 
the  four  sides  of  the  first  yard,  ena 
bling  visitors  to  reach  the  wide  stone 
steps  dry-footed.  At  the  top  of  this 
flight,  a  handsome  covered  gallery, 
adorned  with  vases  of  flowers  and 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


107 


exotic  shrubs,  led  to  a  vast  ante 
room,  which  opened  into  a  splendid 
reception  hall ;  after  this  came  a  con 
siderable  number  of  apartments, 
splendidly  furnished  in  the  Euro 
pean  style. 

The  general  only  inhabited  the  first 
floorof  his  mansion.  Although  most 
of  the  streets  are  paved  at  the  pres 
ent  day,  and  the  canals  have  entirely 
disappeared,  except  in  the  lower  dis 
tricts  of  the  city,  water  is  still  found 
a  few  inches  below  the  surface, which 
produces  such  damp,  that  the  ground- 
floor,  rendered  uninhabitable,  is  given 
up  to  stores  arid  shops  in  nearly  all 
the  houses.  The  ground-floor  of  the 
main  building,  looking  on  the  Calle 
de  Tacuba,  was,  therefore,  occupied 
by  brilliant  shops,  which  rendered 
the  fagade  of  the  general's  house 
even  more  striking. 

The  paintings  and  the  ornaments 
carved  on  the  walls,  after  the  Span 
ish  fashion,  gave  it  a  peculiar,  but 
not  unpleasant  appearance,  which 
was  completed  by  the  profusion  of 
shrubs  that  lined  the  terrace,  and 
converted  it  into  a  hanging  garden 
like  those  of  Babylon,  some  sixty 
feet  above  the  ground.  By-the-by, 
these  gardens,  from  which  the  cupo 
las  of  the  churches  seem  to  emerge, 
give  a  really  fairy-like  aspect  to  the 
city,  when  you  survey  it,  in  a  glow 
ing  sunset,  from  the  cathedral  tow 
ers. 

Seven  or  eight  days  had  elapsed 
since  the  events  we  recorded  in  our 
last  chapter.  General  Guerrero,  after 
a  long  conversation  with  Colonel 
Don  Jaime  Lupo,  Don  Sirven,  and 
two  or  three  others  of  his  most 
faithful  partizans — a  conversation, 
in  which  the  final  arrangements 
were  made  for  the  pronunciamiento 
which  was  to  be  attempted  immedi 
ately — gave  audience  to  two  of  his 
spies,  who  assured  him  that  the  per 
son,  whose  movements  they  were 


ordered  to  watch,  bad  not  yet  ar 
rived  in  Mexico. 

When  the  hour  for  going  to  the 
theatre  arrived,  the  general,  tem 
porarily  freed  from  alarm,  prepared 
to  be  present  at  an  extraordinary 
performance  to  be  given,  that  same 
night,  at  the  Santa  Anna  theatre ; 
but  at  the  moment  when  he  was 
about  to  give  orders  for  his  carriage 
to  be  brought  up,  the  door  of  the 
room,  in  which  he  was  sitting, 
opened,  and  a  footman  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  with  a  respectful  bow. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  the  general 
asked,  turning  round  at  the  sound 

"Excellency,"  the  valet  replied, 
"acaballero  desires  a  few  minutes' 
Conversation  with  your  excellency." 

"  At  this  hour  ?"  the  general  said, 
looking  at  a  clock,  "it  is  impos 
sible  ;"  but,  suddenly  reflecting,  he 
asked,  "  any  one  you  know,  Isidro  ?" 

"  No,  excellency ;  it  is  a  caballero 
whom  I  have  not  yet  had  the  honor 
of  seeing  in  the  house." 

"  Hum,1'  said  the  general,  shaking 
his  head  thoughtfully,  "  is  he  a  gen 
tleman  ?" 

"  That  I  can  assure  your  excellen 
cy  ;  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  a 
most  important  communication  to 
make  to  you." 

In  the  general's  present  position, 
.as  head  of  a  conspiracy  on  the  point 
of  breaking  out,  no  detail  must  be 
neglected,  no  communication  des 
pised,  so,  after  reflecting  a  little,  he 
continued — 

"You  ought  to  have  told  the 
gentleman  that  I  could  not  receive 
him  so  late,  and  that  he  had  better 
call  again  to-morrow." 

"  I  told  him  so,  excellency." 

"And  he  insisted?" 

"  Several  times,  excellency." 

"  Well,  do  you  know  his  name,  at 
least?" 

"  When  I  asked  the  cabaliero  for 
it,  he  said  it  was  useless,  as  you 


IDS 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


would  not  know  it ;  but  if  you 
wished  to  learn  it,  he  would  him 
self  tell  it  to  your  excellency." 

"  What  a  strange  person,"  the 
general  muttered  to  himself;  "very 
good,"  he  then  added  aloud,  "lead 
the  gentleman  to  the  small  mirror 
room,  and  I  will  be  with  him  imme 
diately." 

The  footman  bowed  respectfully. 

"  Who  can  the  man  be,  and  what 
is  the  important  matter  he  has  to 
tell  me?"  the  general  muttered,  as 
he  was  alone.  "Hum,  probably 
some  poor  devil  mixed  up  in  our 
conspiracy,  who  wants  a  little  money. 
Well,  he  had  better  be  careful,  for  I 
am  not  the  man  to  be  plundered 
with  impunity,  and  so  he  will  find 
out,  if  his  communication  is  not  se 
rious." 

And,  throwing  on  to  a  chair  the 
plumed  hat  he  held  in  his  hand,  he 
proceeded  to  the  mirror  room. 


.*       CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A   VISIT. 

THE  mirror  room  was  an  im 
mense  apartment,  only  separated 
from  the  covered  gallery  by  two 
anterooms.  It  was  •  furnished  with 
princely  luxury,  and  it  was  here 
that  the  general  gave  those  sump 
tuous  tertulias,  which  are  still  talked 
about  in  the  highest  Mexican  cir 
cles,  although  so  many  years  have 
elapsed. 

This  room,  merely  lighted  by  two 
lamps,  standing  on  a  console,  was 
at  this  moment  plunged  into  a  semi- 
obscurity,  when  compared  with  the 
other  apartments  in  the  mansion, 
which  were  full  of  light. 

A    gentleman,    dressed    in    full 


black,  and  with,  the  red  ribbon  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor  carelessly  knot 
ted  in  a  button-hole  of  his  coat, 
was  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  con- 
ole  where  the  lamps  stood,  and 
.eemed  so  lost  in  thought,  that, 
when  the  general  entered  the  room, 
the  sound  of  his  steps,  half  subdued 
by  the  petates,  did  not  reach  the 
visitor's  ears,  and  he  did  not  turn  to 
receive  him. 

Don  Sebastian,  after  closing  the 
door  behind  him,  walked  towards  his 
visitor,  attempting  to  recognize  him, 
which,  however,  the  stranger's  posi 
tion  rendered  temporarily  impossible. 
It  was  not  till  he  came  almost  near 
enough  to  touch  him  that  the  stran 
ger,  at  length  warned  of  the  gen- 
eral's  presence,  raised  his  head ;  in 
spite  of  all  the  command  Don  Se 
bastian  had  over  himself,  he  started 
and  fell  back  a  couple  of  yards  on 
recognizing  him. 

"Don  Valentine!"  he  said  in  a 
stifled  voice,  "  you  here  ?" 

"Myself,  general,"  he  replied, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  smile 
and  a  profound  bow  ;  "  did  you  not 
expect  a  visit  from  me?" 

The  Trail-hunter,  according  to  his 
habit,  at  once  assumed  his  position 
before  his  adversary.  A  bitter 
smile  played  round  the  general's  pale 
lips,  and  mastering  his  emotion,  he 
replied  sarcastically — 

"Certainly,  caballero,  I  hoped  to 
receive  a  visit  from  you;  but  not 
here,  and  under  such  conditions,  I 
did  not  venture,  I  confess,  to  antici 
pate  such  an  honor." 

"  I  am  delighted,"  he  replied,  with 
another  bow,  "that  I  have  thus 
anticipated  your  wishes." 

"I  will  prove  to  you,  senor,"  the 
general  said  with  set  teeth,  "the  value 
I  attach  to  the  visit  you  have  been 
pleased  to  pay  me." 

While  saying  this,  he  stretched 
out  his  arm  towards  a  bell. 


THE     BED     TRACK. 


109 


"  I  beg  your  pardon,  general,"  the 
Frenchman  said,  with  imperturbable 
coolness,  "but  I  believe  that  you 
intend  to  summon  some  of  your 
people  ?" 

"  And  supposing  that  was  my  in 
tention,  seiior?"  the  general  said, 
haughtily. 

"If  it  were  so,-"  he  replied,  with 
icy  politeness,  "  I  think  it  would  be 
better  for  you  to  do  nothing  of  the 
sort." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  and  for  what  reason, 
may  I  ask  ?" 

"For  the  simple  reason,  general, 
that  as  I  have  the  honor  to  know 
you  thoroughly,  I  was  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  place  myself  in  your 
power.  My  carriage  is  waiting  at 
this  moment  in  front  of  your  door ; 
in  that  carriage  are  two  of  my  friends, 
and,  in  all  probability,  if  they  do 
not  see  me  come  down  the  steps 
again  in  half  an  hour,  they  will  not 
hesitate  to  ask  you  what  has  taken 
place  between  us,  and  what  has  be 
come  of  me." 

The  general  bit  his  lips. 

"  You  are  mistaken  as  to  my  in 
tentions,  senor,"  he  said.  "I  fear 
you  no  more  than  you  appear  to  do 
me.  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  were 
you  ten  times  more  my  enemy  than 
you  are,  I  would  never  attempt 
to  free  myself  from  you  by  an  assas 
sination." 

"Be  it  so,  general;  I  should  be 
glad  to  be  mistaken,  and  in  that  case 
I  beg  you  to  accept  my  apologies ; 
moreover,  in  coming  thus  to  see  you, 
I  give  you,  I  believe,  a  proof  of 
confidence." 

"  For  which  I  thank  you,  senor ; 
but  as  I  suppose  that  reasons  of  the 
highest  gravity  alone  induced  you 
to  present  yourself  here,  and  the 
interview  you  ask  of  me  must  be 
long,  I  wished  to  give  my  people 
orders  to  take  out  the  horses,  and 
take  care  that  we  are  not  interrupted." 
t 


Valentine  bowed  without  reply 
ing,  but  with  an  imperceptible  smile, 
and  leaning  again  on  the  console,  he 
twisted  his  long,  fair,  light  mous 
tache,  while  the  general  rang  the 
bell.  A  servant  came  in. 

"Have  the  horses  taken  out,"  the 
general  said,  "and  I  am  not  at  home 
to  anybody." 

The  servant  bowed,  and  prepared 
to  leave  the  room. 

"Ah!"  said  the  general,  suddenly 
stopping  hirn,  "on  the  part  of  this 
caballero  ask  the  gentlemen  in  his 
carriage  to  do  me  the  honor  of  com 
ing  up  to  my  apartments,  where 
they  can  await  more  comfortably 
the  end  of  a  conversation  which 
will  probably  be  rather  prolonged. 
You  will  serve  refreshments  to  these 
gentlemen  in  the  blue  room,"  he 
added,  looking  fixedly  at  the  French 
man,  "the  one  that  follows  this 
room." 

The  servant  retired. 

"If  you  still  apprehend  a  trap, 
senor,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the 
Frenchman,  "your  friends  will  be  at 
hand,  if  necessary,  to  come  to  your 
help." 

"I  knew  that  you  were  brave  to 
rashness,  general,"  the  Frenchman 
answered  politely,  "and  I  am  happy 
to  see  that  you  are  no  less  honor 
able." 

"  And  now,  senor,  be  kind  enough 
to  sit  down,"  Don  Sebastian  said, 
pointing  to  a  chair.  "May  I  ven 
ture  to  offer  you  any  refresh 
ments?" 

"  General,"  Valentine  answered,  as 
he  seated  himself,  "permit  me,  for 
the  present,  to  decline  them.  In  ray 
youth  I  served  in  Africa,  and  in 
that  country  people  are  only  wont 
to  break  their  fast  with  friends.  As 
we  are,  temporarily  at  least,  ene 
mies,  I  must  ask  you  to  let  me 
retain  my  present  position  toward 
you." 


110 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"The  custom  to  which  you  allude, 
senor,  is  also  met  with  on  our  prai 
ries,"  the  general  replied;  "still  peo 
ple  sometimes  depart  from  it.  How 
ever,  act  as  you  think  proper.  I 
wait  till  it  may  please  you  to  explain 
the  purpose  of  this  visit,  at  which  I 
Lave  a  right  to  feel  surprised." 

"I  will  not  abuse  your  patience 
any  longer,  general,"  he  replied  with 
a  bow.  "I  have  merely  come  to 
propose  a  bargain." 

"A  bargain?"  Don  Sebastian  ex 
claimed  with  surprise,  "I  do  not 
understand  you." 

"I  will  have  the  honor  of  ex 
plaining  myself,  senor." 

The  general  bowed  and  said,  "I 
await  your  pleasure." 

"You  are  a  diplomatist,  general," 
Valentine  continued,  "and  in  that 
capacity  are,  doubtless,  aware  that  a 
bad  treaty  is  better  than  a  good 
war." 

"In  certain  cases  I  allow  it  is  so; 
but  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  re 
marking  that,  under  present  cir 
cumstances,  senor,  I  must-  await 
your  propositions,  instead  of  offer 
ing  any  of  mine,  as  the  war,  to 
employ  your  own  expression,  was 
not  begun  by  me,  but  by  you.'" 

"I  think  it  will  be  better  not  to 
discuss  that  point,  in  which  we 
should  find  it  difficult  to  agree;  still, 
in  order  to  remove  any  ambiguity, 
and  lay  down  the  point  at  issue  dis 
tinctly,  I  will  remind  you,  in  a  few 
words,  of  the  motives  which  pro 
duced  the  hatred  that  divides  us." 

"Those  motives,  senor,  you  have 
already  explained  to  me  most  fully 
at  the  Fort  of  the  Chichimeques. 
Without  discussing  their  validity 
with  you,  I  will  content  myself  with 
saying  that  hatred,  like  friendship, 
being  a  matter  of  sympathy,  and 
not  the  result  of  reason,  it  is  better 
to  confess  frankly  that  we  hate  or 
love  each  other,  without  trying  to 


account  for  either  of  these  feelings, 
which  I  consider  completely  beyond 
the  will." 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  think  so, 
senor,  and  though  I  do  not  agree 
with  you,  I  will  not  discuss  the 
point;  it  is,  however,  certain  that 
the  hatred  we  bear  each  other  is  im 
placable,  and  cannot  possibly  be  ex 
tinguished." 

"  Still  you  spoke  only  a  minute 
back  of  a  bargain." 

"Certainly  ;  but  bargaining  is  not 
forgetting.  I  can,  for  certain  rea 
sons,  abstain  from  that  hatred  with 
out  renouncing  it ;  and  though  I 
may  cease  to  injure  you,  I  do  not, 
on  that  account,  contract  the  slight 
est  friendship  with  you." 

"I  admit  that  in  principle,  senor; 
let  us,  therefore,  come  to  facts  with 
out  further  delay ;  be  good  enough 
to  explain  to  me  the  nature  of  the 
bargain  which  you  think  proper  to 
propose  to  me  to-day." 

"Allow  me,  in  the  first  place, 
according  to  my  notions  of  honor, 
to  explain  to  you  what  our  position 
to  each  other  is." 

"Since  the  beginning  of  this  in-" 
terview,  senor,  I  must  confess  that 
you  have  been  talking  enigmas  in 
explicable  to  me." 

"I  will  try  to  be  clear,  senor,  and 
if  I  tell  you  what  your  plans  are, 
and  the  means  you  have  employed 
for  their  realization,  you  will  under 
stand,  I  have  no  doubt,  that  I  have 
succeeded  in  countermining  them 
sufficiently  to  prevent  a  favorable 
issue." 

"Go  on,  senor,"  the  general  re 
marked,  with  a  smile. 

"  In  two  words,  this  is  your  posi 
tion.  In  the  first,  you  wish,  by  a 
pronunciamiento,  to  overthrow  Gen 
eral  K ,  and  have  yourself  pro 
claimed  President  of  the  Republic 
in  his  place." 

"Ah,  ah,"  said  the  general,  with 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


Ill 


a  forced  laugh;  "you  must  know, 
senor,  that  in  our  blessed  country 
this  ambition  is  constantly  attrib 
uted  to  all  officers  who,  either  on 
account  of  their  fortune  or  personal 
merit,  hold  a  public  position.  This 
accusation,  therefore,  is  not  very 
serious." 

"It  would  not  be  so,  if  you  lim 
ited  yourself  to  mere  wishes,  possi 
bly  legitimate  in  the  present  state 
of  the  country  ;  but,  unfortunately, 
it  is  not  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  general,  that  you  are  the 
head  of-a  conspiracy  ;  that  this  con 
spiracy,  several  times  already  a  fail 
ure  in  Sonora,  you  have  renewed  in 
Mexico,  under  almost  infallible  con 
ditions  of  success,  and  which,  in  my 
opinion,  would  succeed,  had  I  not 
resolved  on  causing  them  to  fail.  I 
mean  that,  only  a  few  days  ago,  your 
conspirators  assembled  in  a  velorio 
kept  by  a  certain  No  Lusacho. 
Through  the  agency  of  Don  Jaime 
Lupo,  you  divided  among  them  two 
bags  of  gold,  brought  by  you  for 
them,  and  emptied  in  your  presence. 
I  mean  that,  after  this  distribution, 
the  final  arrangements  were  made, 
and  the  day  was  almost  fixed  for  the 
pronunciamiento.  Am  I  deceived, 
general,  or  do  you  now  see  that  I  am 
well  informed,  and  that  my  spies  are 
quite  equal  to  yours,  who  were  not 
even  able  to  inform  you  of  my  ar 
rival  at  the  Ciudad,  where  I  have 
been  for  more  than  a  week,  and  you 
have  not  known  a  word  about  it?" 

While  Valentine  was  speaking 
thus,  in  his  mocking  way,  with  his 
elbow  carelessly  laid  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair,  and  his  body  slightly  bent 
forward,  the  general  was  in  a  state 
of  passion  which  he  tried  in  vain  to 
repress,  his  pale  face  assumed  a 
cadaverous  hue,  his  eyebrows  met, 
and  his  clenched  teeth  found  diffi 
culty  in  keeping  the  words  back 


which  tried  each  moment  to  burst 
forth.  When  the  Frenchman  ceased 
speaking,  he  made  a  violent  effort 
to  check  his  rage  which  was  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out,  and  he  an 
swered  in  a  hollow  voice  which 
emotion  caused  involuntarily,  to 
tremble — 

"I  will  imitate  your  frankness, 
senor.  Of  what  use  would  it  be  to 
dissimulate  with  an  enemy  so  well 
informed  as  you  pretend  to  be? 
What  you  have  said  about  a  con 
spiracy  is  perfectly  correct.  Yes,  I 
intend  to  make  a  pronounciamiento, 
and  that  shortly.  You  see  that  I  do 
not  attempt  to  conceal  any  thing 
from  you." 

"I  presume,  because  you  consider 
it  useless,"  Valentine  answered,  sar 
castically. 

"  Perhaps  so,  senor.  Although 
you  are  so  well  informed,  you  do 
not  know  every  thing." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  What  is  the  thing  I  am  ignorant 
of?" 

"That  you  will  not  leave  this 
house  again,  and  that  I  am  going  to 
blow  out  your  brains,"  the  general 
exclaimed,  as  he  started  up  and 
cocked  a  pistol. 

The  Frenchman  did  not  make  the 
slightest  movement  to  prevent  the 
execution  of  the  general's  threat ; 
he  contented  himself  with  look 
ing  firmly  at  him,  and  saying, 
coldly — 

"  I  defy  you." 

Don  Sebastian  remained  motion 
less,  with  haggard  eye,  pale  brow, 
and  trembling  hand  ;  'then,  in  a  few 
seconds,  he  uncocked  the  pistol,  and 
fell  back  utterly  crushed  in  his  chair. 

"  You  have  gone  too  far  or  not 
far  enough,  caballero,"  Valentine 
went  on  with  perfect  calmness. 
"  Every  threat  should  be  executed 
at  all  risks  so  soon  as  it  is  made. 


THE     RET)     TRACK. 


You  have  reflected,  so  let  us  say  no 
more  about  it,  but  resume  our  con 
versation." 

In  a  discussion  of  this  nature  all 
the  advantage  is  on  the  side  of  the 
adversary  who  retains  his  coolness. 
The  general,  ashamed  of  the  pas 
sionate  impulse  to  which  he  had 
yielded,  and  crushed  by  his  enemy's 
sarcastically  contemptuous  answer, 
remained  dumb ;  he  at  length  un 
derstood  that,  with  a  man  like  the 
one  before  him,  any  contest  must 
turn  to  his  disadvantage,  unless  he 
employed  treachery,  which  his  pride 
forbade. 

"Let  us,  for  the  present,"  Valen 
tine  went  on,  still  calmly  and  coldly, 
"  leave  this  conspiracy,  to  which  we 
will  revert  presently,  and  pass  to  a 
no  less  interesting  subject.  If  I  am 
correctly  informed,  Senor  Don  Se 
bastian,  you  have  a  ward  of  the 
name  of  Dona  Anita  de  Torres  ?" 

The  general  started,  but  remained 
silent. 

"Now,"  continued  Valentine,  "in 
consequence  of  a  frightful  catas 
trophe,  this  young  lady  became  in 
sane.  But  that  does  not  prevent 
you  from  insisting  on  marrying  her, 
in  contempt  of  all  law,  divine  and 
human,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
she  is  enormously  rich  and  you  re 
quire  her  fortune  for  the  execution 
of  your  ambitious  plans.  It  is  true 
that  the  young  lady  does  not  love 
you,  and  never  did  love  you ;  it  is 
also  true  that  her  father  intended 
her  for  another,  and  that  other  you 
insist  on  declaring  to  be  dead,  al 
though  he  is  alive;  but  what  do 
you  care  for  that?  Unfortunately, 
one  of  my  intimate  friends,  of  whom 
you  probably  never  heard,  Senor 
Don  Serapio  de  la  Honda,  has  heard 
this  affair  alluded  to.  I  will  tell  you 
confidentially  that  Don  Serapio  is 
greatly  respected  by  certain  parties, 
and  has  very  considerable  power. 


Don  Serapio,  I  know  not  why,  takes 
an  interest  in  Dona  Anita,  and  has 
made  up  his  mind,  whether  you 
like  it  or  not,  to  marry  her  to  the 
man  she  loves,  and  for  whom  her 
father  intended  her." 

"The  villian  is  dead,"  the  general 
exclaimed,  furiously. 

"  You  are  perfectly  well  aware  of 
the  contrary,"  Senor  Valentine  an 
swered,  "and  to  remove  any  doubts 
you  may  still  happen  to  have,  I  will 
give  you  the  proof.  Don  Martial," 
he  said  aloud,  "come  in,  pray,  and 
tell  General  Guerrero  yourself  that 
you  are  not  dead." 

"Oh  !"  the  general  muttered  furi 
ously,  "  this  man  is  a  demon." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened, 
and  a  new  personage  entered  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ASSISTANCE. 

THE  man  who  now  entered  the 
hall  of  mirrors  was  dressed  like  the 
riders  who  promenade  at  the  Bu- 
carelli,  and  gallop  at  carriage  doors 
— that  is  to  say,  in  trousers  with 
silk  stripes  down  the  sides,  and  a 
broad-brimmed  hat  decorated  with 
a  double  gold  string  and  tassels. 

He  walked  gracefully  up  to  Don 
Sebastian,  still  holding  his  hat  in 
his  right  hand,  bowed  to  him  with 
that  exquisite  grace  of  which  the 
Mexicans  alone  seem  to  have  the 
privilege,  and  thrusting  his  hand 
into  his  side,  he  said,  with  an  accent 
of  cutting  sarcasm,  and  in  a  harsh, 
metallic  voice — 

"  Do  you  recognize  me,  Don  Se 
bastian,  and  do  you  believe  that  I 
am  really  alive,  and  that  it  is  not 
the  ghost  of  Martial  the  Tigrero 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


113 


which  has  come  from  the  grave 
to  address  you?" 

At  the  same  moment  Belhumeurs 
clever,  knowing  face  could  be  seen 
peering  through  the  doorway.  With 
his  eyes  obstinately  fixed  on  the 
general,  he  seemed  to  be  impatiently 
expecting  an  answer,  which  the  lat 
ter,  struggling  with  several  different 
feelings,  evidently  hesitated  to  give. 
Still,  he  was  compelled  to  form  a 
resolution,  so  he  rose  and  looked 
the  Tigrero  boldly  in  the  face. 

"  Who  are  you,  senor  ?"  he  said, 
in  a  firm  voice,  "  and  by  what  right 
do  you  question  me  ?" 

11  Well  played,"  said  Valentine, 
with  a  laugh;  "by  heaven,  cabal- 
lero,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  contend  with 
you,  for,  on  my  soul,  you  are  a  rude 
adversary." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Don  Sebas 
tian  asked,  with  a  hoarse  laugh. 

"Certainly,"  the  hunter  continued, 
"and  I  am  delighted  to  bear  my 
testimony  to  the  fact;  hence  you 
had  better  yield  at  once,  for  you  are 
in  a  dilemma  from  which  you  can 
not  escape,  not  even  by  a  master 
stroke." 

There  was  a  silence,  lasting  some 
minutes.  At  length  the  general 
seemed  to  make  up  his  mind,  for  he 
turned  to  Belhumeur,  who  was  still 
listening,  and  bowed  to  him  with 
ironical  politeness. 

"  Why  stand  half  hidden  by  that 
door  ?"  he  said  to  him ;  "  pray  en 
ter,  caballero,  for  your  presence 
here  will  be  most  agreeable  to  the 
whole  company." 

The  Canadian  at  once  entered,  and 
after  giving  the  general  a  respectful 
bow  he  leant  over  the  back  of  Val 
entine's  chair.  The  latter  eagerly 
followed  all  the  incidents  of  the 
strange  scene  that  was  being  played 
before  him,  and  in  which  he  ap 
peared  to  be  a  disinterested  spectator 
rather  than  an  actor. 


I  "  You  see,  senores,"  the  general 
I  said,  haughtily,  "  that  I  imitate  your 
example,  ^nd,  like  you,,  play  fairly. 
I  believe  that  you  entered  my  house 
in  order  to  propose  a  bargain  to  me, 
Don  Valentine  ?  You,  senor,"  he 
said,  turning  to  the  Tigrero,  "  whom 
I  told  that  I  did  not  recognize,  and 
whom  I  have  the  honor  of  receiving 
at  my  house  for  the  first  time,  have 
doubtless  come  as  witness  for  these 
caballeros,  who  are  your  friends. 
Well,  gentlemen,  you  shall  all  three 
be  satisfied.  I  am  awaiting  your 
proposal,  Don  Valentine.  I  allow, 
senor,  that  you,  whose  miraculous 
resuscitation  I  have  hitherto  denied, 
are  alive,  and  are  really  Don  Martial, 
the  ex-lover  of  Dona  Anita  do  Tor 
res.  As  for  you,  senor,  whom  I  do 
not  know,  I  authorize  you  to  de 
clare  before  any  one  you  like  the 
truth  of  the  words  I  utter.  Are 
you  all  three  satisfied,  gentlemen  ? 
Is  there  any  thing  else  I  can  do  to 
afford  you  pleasure  ? — if  so,  speak, 
and  I  am  ready  to  satisfy  you." 

"A  man  could  not  yield  to  what 
is  inevitable  with  better  grace,"  Val 
entine  replied,  bowing  ironically. 

"Thanks  for  approval,  caballero, 
and  be  kind  enough  to  let  me  know, 
without  further  delay,  the  conditions 
on  which  you  are  willing  to  leave 
off  pursuing  me  with  that  terrible 
hatred  with  which  you  incessantly 
threaten  me,  and  whose  result  is  ra 
ther  long  in  coming,  according  to 
my  judgment." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a 
mixture  of  pride  and  contempt  im 
possible  to  express,  and  which  for  a 
moment  rendered  Valentine  dumb, 
so  extraordinary  did  the  sudden 
change  in  his  adversary's  humor  ap 
pear  to  him. 

"  I  am  waiting,"  the  general  add 
ed,  as  he  fell  back  in  his  chair,  with 
an  air  of  weariness. 

"  We  will   bring   matters   to  ail 


114 

end,"  Valentine  said,  drawing  liim- 
salf  up  with  an  air  of  resolution. 

"That  is  what  I  wish,"  tn"e  general 
interrupted  him,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette, 
which  he  began  smoking  with  a 
most  profound  coolness. 

"  These  are  my  conditions,"  the 
hunter  said  distinctly  and  harshly, 
for  he  was  annoyed  by  this  frigid 
indifference.  "You  will  at  once 
leave  Mexico,  and  give  up  Don  a  Anita, 
to  whom  you  will  not  only  restore 
her  liberty,  but  also  the  right  of 
giving  her  hand  and  fortune  to 
whomsoever  she  pleases.  You  will 
sell  your  estates,  and  retire  to  the  Uni 
ted  States,  promising  on  oath  never  to 
return  to  Mexico.  On  my  side,  I 
pledge  myself  to  restore  you  your 
daughter's  body,  and  never  attempt 
to  injure  you  in  any  way." 

"Have  you  any  thing  more  to 
add  ?"  the  general  asked,  as  he  coolly 
watched  the  blue  smoke  of  his  ciga 
rette  as  it  rose  in  circles  to  the  ceil 
ing. 

"  Nothing ;  but  take  care,  senor,  I 
too  have  taken  an  oath,  and  from 
what  I  have  told  you,  you  must  have 
seen  how  far  I  have  detected  your 
secrets.  Accept  or  refuse,  but  come 
to  a  decision ;  for  this  is  the  last 
time  we  shall  meet  face  to  face  under 
the  like  conditions.  The  game  we 
are  playing  is  a  terrible  one,  and 
must  end  in  the  death  of  one  of  us; 
and  I  shall  show  you  no  pity,  as, 
doubtless,  you  will  show  me  none. 
Jleflect  seriously  before  answering 
yes  or  no,  and  I  giv,e  you  half  an 
hour  to  decide." 

The  general  burst  into  a  sharp 
and  nervous  laugh.  "Viva  Dios, 
caballero!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
contemptuous  toss  of  his  head,  "I 
have  listened  to  you  with  extreme 
surprise.  You  dispose  of  my  will 
with  an  incomparable  facility.  I  do 
not  know  who  gives  you  the  right 
to  speak  and  act  as  you  are  doing ; 


THE     R  E  D     TRACK. 


but,  by  heaven,  hatred,  however  ac 
tive  it  may  be,  can  in  no  case  pos 
sess  this  privilege.  You  fancy  your- 
self  much  more  powerful  than  you 
really  are,  I  fancy;  but,  at  any  rate, 
whatever  may  happen,  bear  this  care 
fully  in  mind — I  will  not  retreat  an 
inch  before  you.  Accepting  your  im 
pudent  and  ridiculous  conditions 
would  be  to  cover  myself  with  shame 
and  my  utter  ruin.  Were  you  the 
genius  of  evil  clothed  in  mortal  form, 
I  would  not  the  less  persist  in  the 
track  I  have  laid  down  for  myself,  and 
in  which  I  will  persevere  at  my  own 
risk  and  peril ;  however  terrible  may 
be  the  obstacles  you  raise,  I  will  over 
throw  them  or  succumb  bravely,  bur 
ied  beneath  the  ruins  of  my  abortive 
plans  and  my  destroyed  fortunes. 
Hence  consider  yourself  warned,  Don 
Valentine ;  that  I  despise  your  men 
aces,  and  they  will  not  stop  me. 
And  you,  Don  Martial,  since  such  is 
your  name,  that  I  shall  marry  my 
ward,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  you  may 
make  to  prevent  me,  and  shall  do  so 
because  1  wish  it,  and  because  no 
man  in  the  world  has  ever  attempt 
ed  to  resist  my  will  without  being  at 
once  mercilessly  crushed.  And  now, 
senores,  as  we  have  said  all  we  fiave 
to  say  to  each  other,  and  I  think 
there  is  no  more,  and  we  can  have 
no  doubt  as  to  our  mutual  intentions, 
permit  me  to  take  leave  of  you,  for 
I  wish  to  go  to  the  Santa  Anna  thea 
tre,  and  it  is  already  very  late." 

He  rang  the  bell  and  a  footman 
came  in. 

"  Order  the  carriage,"  he  said  to 
him. 

"  Then,"  Valentine  said  as  he  rose, 
"  it  is  war  to  the  death  between  us.'' 

"  War  to  the  death  !  be  it  so." 

"  We  shall  only  meet  once  again, 
general,"  the  hunter  remarked ;  "  and 
that  will  be  on  the  eve  of  your 
death,  when  you  are  in  Capilla." 

"I  accept  the  meeting,  and  will 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


115 


bow  uncomplainingly  before  you  if 
you  are  powerful  enough  to  obtain 
that  result ;  but,  believe  me,  I  am 
not  there  yet." 

"You  are  nearer  your  fall  than 
you  perhaps  suppose.'' 

"  That  is  possible ;  but  enough  of 
this;  any  further  conversation  will 
be  useless.  Light  these  gentlemen 
down,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  who 
at  this  moment  entered  the  room. 

The  three  men  rose,  exchanged 
dumb  bows  with  the  general,  and  ac 
companied  by  him  to  the  door  of  the 
room,  they  followed  the  footman, 
who  preceded  them  with  candles. 
Two  carriages  were  waiting  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs ;  Valentine  and  his 
friends  got  into  tine  of  them,  the 
general  took  his  seat  in  the  other, 
and  they  heard  him  give  the  order 
in  a  firm  voice  to  drive  to  the  Santa 
Anna  theatre.  The  coachmen 
flogged  their  horses,  which  started 
at  a  gallop,  and  the  two  carriages 
left  the  house,  the  gates  of  which 
where  closed  after  them. 

The  Santa  Anna  theatre  was 
built  in  1844,  by  the  Spanish  ar 
chitect,  Hidalgo.  This  building  has 
externally  nothing  remarkable  about 
it,  either  in  regard  to  frontage  or 
position ;  but  we  are  glad  to  state 
that  the  interior  is  convenient,  ele 
gant,  and  even  grand. 

After  passing  through  the  exter 
nal  portico,  you  enter  a  yard  covered 
with  a  glass  dome,  next  come  wide 
stairs  with  low  steps,  large  and  lofty 
lobbies,  a  double  row  of  galleries 
looking  on  the  front  yard,  and  airy 
crush-rooms  for  the  promenaders. 

The  house  is  well  built,  well  deco 
rated,  and  spacious ;  it  has  three 
rows  of  boxes,  with  a  lower  circle 
representing  the  pit  boxes,  and  an 
other  above  the  third  circle  for  the 
lower  Classes.  In  the  pit,  it  is 
worth  mentioning,  that  each  visitor 
has  his  stall,  which  he  reaches  easily 


and  comfortably  by  passages  formed 
down  the  centre  and  round  the  the 
atre.  The  boxes  nearly  all  contain 
ten  persons,  and  are  separated  from 
each  other  by  light  colonnades  and 
partitions.  To  each  box  is  attached 
a  room,  to  which  people  withdraw 
between  the  acts,  and,  instead  of  the 
balconies  which  in  our  theatres  con 
ceal  a  great  part  of  the  ladies'  toil 
ets,  the  boxes  have  only  a  ledge  a 
few  inches  in  height,  which  allows 
the  splendid  dresses  of  the  audience 
to  be  fully  admired. 

We  have  dwelt,  perhaps  with  a 
little  complacency,  on  this  descrip 
tion  of  the  Santa  Anna  theatre,  for 
we  thought  that,  at  the  moment 
when  it  is  intended  to  rebuild  the 
Opera  and  other  Parisian  theatres, 
there  can  be  no  harm  in  displaying 
the  difference  that  exists  between 
the  frightful  dens  in  which  the  spec 
tators  are  thrust  together  pell-mell 
every  night  in  a  city  like  Paris, 
which  claims  to  be  the  first,  not  only 
in  Europe,  but  in  the  whole  world,  and 
the  spacious  airy  theatres  of  a  country 
like  Mexico,  which  in  so  many  re 
spects  is  inferior  to  us  as  regards  ideas 
of  civilization  and  comfort.  It  would, 
however,  be  very  easy,  we  fancy,  to 
obtain  in  Paris  the  advantageous  re 
sults  the  Mexicans  have  enjoyed  for 
twenty  years,  and  that  at  a  slight  ex 
pense.  Unfortunately,  whatever  may 
be  said,  the  French  are  the  most 
thorough  routine  nation  in  the  world, 
and  we  greatly  fear  that,  in  spite  of 
incessant  protests,  things  will  remain 
for  a  long  time  in  the  same  state  as 
they  are  to-day. 

When  the  general  entered  his  box, 
which  was  in  the  first  circle,  and  al 
most  facing  the  stage,  the  house  pre 
sented  a  truly  fairy-like  appearance. 
The  extraordinary  performance  had 
brought  an  immense  throng  of  spec 
tators  and  ladies,  whose  magnificent 
dresses  were  covered  with  diamonds, 


116 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


which  glittered  and  flashed  beneath 
the  light  that  played  on  them. 

Don  Sebastian,  after  bending  for 
ward  for  a  moment  to  exchange 
bows  with  his  numerous  acquaint 
ances,  and  prove  his  presence,  with 
drew  to  the  back  of  the  box,  opened 
his  glasses,  and  began  looking  care 
lessly  about  him.  But  though, 
through  a  powerful  effort  of  the  will, 
his  face  was  cold,  calm,  and  un 
moved,  a  terrible  storm  was  raging 
in  the  general's  heart. 

The  scene  that  had  taken  place 
a  few  minutes  previously  at  his  man 
sion,  had  filled  him  with  anxiety 
and  gloomy  forebodings,  for  he  un 
derstood  that  his  adversaries  must 
either  believe  or  feel  themselves 
very  strong  thus  to  dare  and  defy 
him  to  the  face,  and  audaciously  en 
ter  his  very  house.  In  vain  he  tor 
tured  his  mind  to  find  means  to  get 
rid  of  his  obstinate  enemy  ;  but  time 
pressed,  his  situation  became  at  each 
moment  more  critical,  and  unless 
some  bold  and  desperate  stroke 
proved  successful,  he  felt  instinct 
ively  that  he  was  lost  without  chance 
of  salvation. 

The  president's  box  was  occupied 
by  the  first  magistrate  of  the  Hepub- 
lic  and  some  of  his  aides-de-camp. 
Several  times,  Don  Sebastian  fancied 
that  the  president's  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him  with  a  strange  expression, 
after  which  he  bent  over  and  whis 
pered  some  remarks  to  the  gentle 
men  who  accompanied  him.  Per 
haps  this  was  not  real,  and  the  gen 
eral's  pricked  conscience  suggested 
to  him  suspicions  far  from,  the 
thoughts  of  those  against  whom  he 
had  so  many  reasons  to  be  on  his 
guard ;  but  whether  real  or  not, 
these  suspicions  tortured  his  heart 
and  proved  to  Jiim  the  necessity  of 
coming  to  an  end  at  all  risks. 

Still  the  performance  went  on ; 
the  curtain  had  just  fallen  before  the 


last  act,  ana  tne  general,  devoured 
by  anxiety,  and  persuaded  that  he 
had  remained  long  enough  in  the 
theatre  to  testify  his  presence,  was 
preparing  to  retire,  when  the  door 
of  his  box  opened,  and  Colonel  Lupo 
walked  in. 

"Ah,  is  it  you,  colonel  ?"  Don  Se 
bastian  said  to  him  as  he  offered  his 
hand  and  gave  him  a  forced  smile. 
"  You  are  welcome  ;  I  did  not  hope 
any  longer  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you,  and  I  was  just  going 
away." 

"Pray  do  not  let  me  stop  you, 
general,  I  have  only  a  few  words  to 
say  to  you." 

"Our  business?" 

"  Goes  on  famously." 

"No  suspicion  ?" 

"  Not  the  shadow." 

The  general  breathed  like  a  man 
from  whose  chest  a  crushing  weight 
has  just  been,  removed. 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you  ?" 
he  said,  absently. 

"  For  the  present,  I  have  only 
come  for  your  sake." 

"How  so?" 

"I  was  accosted  to-day  by  a.  lep- 
ero,  a  villain  of  the  worst  sort,  who 
says  he  wishes  to  avenge  himself  on 
a  certain  Frenchman,  whom  he  de 
clares  you  know,  and  he  desires  to 
place  himself  under  your  protection, 
in  the  event  of  the  blade  of  his  na- 
vaja  accidentally  slipping  into  his 
enemy's  body." 

"Hum!  that  is  serious,"  the  gen 
eral  said  with  an  imperceptible  start. 
"  I  do  not  know  how  far  I  dare-  go 
in  being  bail  for  such  a  scoundrel." 

"He  declares  that  you  have  known 
him  for  a  long  time,  and  that  while 
doing  his  own  business,  he  will  be 
doing  yours." 

"  You  know  that  I  am  no  admirer 
of  navajadas,  for  an  assassination  al 
ways  injures  the  character  of  a  poli 
tician." 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


117 


"  That  is  true ;  but  you  cannot  be 
rendered  responsible  for  the  crimes 
any  villain  may  think  proper  to 
commit." 

"  Did  this  worthy  gentleman  tell 
you  his  name,  my  dear  colonel  ?" 

"Yes;  but  I  believe  it  would  be 
better  to  mention  it  in  the  open  air, 
rather  than  in  this  place." 

"  One  word  more  ;  have  you  clev 
erly  deceived  him,  and  do  you  thrnk 
that  he  really  intends  to  be  useful  to 
us?" 

"  Useful  to  you,  you  mean." 

"As  you  please." 

"I  could  almost  assert  it." 

"  Well,  we  will  be  off;  have  you 
weapons  about  you  ?" 

"I  should  think  so;  it  would  be 
madness  to  go  about  Mexico  un 
armed." 

"I  have  pistols  in  my  pocket,  so 
I  will  dismiss  my  carriage,  and  we 
will  walk  home  to  my  house;  does 
that  suit  you,  my  dear  colonel  ?" 

"  Excellently,  general,  the  more 
so  because  if  you  evince  any  desire 
to  see  the  scoundrel  in  question, 
nothing  will  be  easier  than  for  me 
to  take  you  to  the  den  he  occupies, 
without  attracting  attention." 

The  general  looked  at  his  accom 
plice  fixedly.  "  You  have  not  told 
me  all,  colonel  ?"  he  said. 

"I  have  not,  general,  but  I  am 
convinced  that  you  understand  the 
motive  which  at  this  moment  keeps 
my  mouth  shut." 

"  In  that  case  let  us  be  off." 

He  wrapped  himself  in  his  cloak 
and  left  the  box,  followed  by  the 
colonel.  A  footman  was  waiting 
under  the  portico  for  his  orders  to 
bring  up  the  carriage. 

"  Return  to  the  house,"  the  general 
said;  "it  is  a  fine  night  and  I  feel 
inclined  for  a  walk." 

The  footman  retired. 

"Come,  colonel,"  Don  Sebastian 
went  on. 


They  left  the  theatre  and  proceed 
ed  slowly  towards  the  Portales  de 
Mercadores,  which  were  entirely  de 
serted  at  this  advanced  hour  of  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

EL    ZAEAGATE. 

THE  night  was  clear,  mild  and 
starry,  a  profound  calm  prevailed 
in  the  deserted  streets,  and  it  was  in 
fact  one  of  those  delicious  Mexican 
nights,  so  filled  with  soft  emanations, 
and  which  dispose  the  mind  to  de 
licious  reveries. 

The  two  gentlemen,  carefully 
wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  walked  side 
by  side,  along  the  middle  of  "the 
street  in  fear  of  an  ambuscade,  ex 
amining  with  practised  eyes  the 
doorways  and  the  dark  corners  of 
side  streets.  When  they  were  far 
enough  from  the  theatre  no  longer 
to  fear  indiscreet  eyes  or  ears,  the 
general  at  length  broke  the  silence. 

"Now,  Seuor  Don  Jaime,",  he 
said,  "let  us  speak  frankly,  if  you 
please." 

"I  wish  for  nothing  better,"  the 
colonel  replied,  with  a  bow. 

"And  to  begin,"  Don  Sebastian 
continued,  "tell  me  who  the  man  is 
from  whom  you  hinted  that  I  could 
derive  some  benefit." 

"Nothing  is  easier,  excellency. 
This  man  is  a  villain  of  the  worst 
sort,  as  I  already  had  the  honor  of 
telling  you;  his  antecedents  are,  I 
suppose,  rather  dark,  and  that  is  all 
I  have  been  able  to  discover.  This 
man,  who,  I  believe,  belongs  to  no 
country,  but  who,  in  consequence 
of  his  adventurous  life,  has  visited 
them  all  and  speaks  all  languages, 
was  at  San  Francisco  when  the 


118 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


Count  de  Prdbois  Craned  organized 
the  cuadrilla  of  bandits,  at  the  head 
of  which  he  undertook  to  dismember 
our  lovely  country,  and  in  which, 
between  ourselves,  he  would  proba 
bly  have  succeeded  had  it  not  been 
for  your  skill  and  courage." 

"  We  will  pass  over  that,  my  dear 
colonel,"  the  general  quickly  inter 
rupted  him  ;  "  I  did  my  duty  in  that 
affair,  as  I  shall  always  do  it  when  the 
interest  of  my  country  is  at  stake." 

The  colonel  bowed. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "the  villain 
I  am  speaking  of  could  not  let  such 
a  magnificent  opportunity  slip;  he 
enlisted  in  the  count's  cuadrilla.  I 
believe  he  was  starving  at  San  Fran 
cisco,  and,  for  certain  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  was  not  sorry  to 
leave  that  city — but  perhaps  I  weary 
you  by  giving  you  all  these  de 
tails." 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  colonel, 
I  wish  to  be  thoroughly  acquaint 
ed  with  this  picaro,  in  order  to 
judge  what  reliance  may  be  placed 
in  his  protestations." 

"On  arriving  at  Guaymas,  our  man 
became  almost  directly  the  secret 
agent  of  that  unhappy  Colonel 
Fleury,  who,  as  you  well  remember, 
was  so  brutally  assassinated  by  the 
Frenchmen." 

"  Alas,  yes !"  the  general  said  with 
a  sardonic  smile. 

"Senor  Pavo  also  employed  him 
several  times,"  Don  Jaime  contin 
ued;  "but,  unfortunately  for  our  in- 
vidual,  Don  Valentine,  the  count's 
friend,  was  watching;  he  discovered, 
I  knew  not  how,  all  his  little  tricks, 
and  insisted  on  his  dismissal  from 
the  company,  after  a  quarrel  he  had 
with  one  of  the  French  officers." 

"I  think  I  can  remember  the  af 
fair  being  talked  about  at  the  time. 
Was  not  this  villain  known  by  the 
sobriquet  of  the  Zaragate  ?" 

"He    was,    general;    furious    at 


what  happened  to  him,  and  attribut 
ing  it  to  Don  Valentine,  he  took  an 
oath  to  kill  him  whenever  he  met 
him,  so  soon  as  the  opportunity  of 
fered  itself." 

"Well?" 

"It  seems  that,  despite  all  his 
good  will  and  his  eager  desire  to 
get  rid  of  his  enemy,  the  opportu 
nity  has  not  yet  offered,  as  he  has 
not  killed  him." 

"  That  is  true  ;  but  how  did 
you  come  across  this  scoundrel, 
colonel  ?" 

"Well,  general,"  he  answered 
with  some  hesitation,  "  you  know 
that  I  have  been  compelled  during 
the  last  few  days,  for  the  sake  of 
our  affair,  to  keep  rather  bad  com 
pany.  This  scoundrel  came  to  of 
fer  his  services.  I  cross-questioned 
him,  and  knowing  your  enmity  to 
that  Frenchman,  I  resolved  to  in 
form  you  of  this  acquisition.  If  I 
have  done  wrong,  forgive  me,  and 
we  will  say  no  more  about  it.7' 

"On  the  contrary,  colonel,"  the 
general  said  eagerly.  "The  deuce! 
not  only  have  I  nothing  to  forgive,  but 
I  feel  very  grateful  to  you,  for  your 
confession  has  come  at  a  most  fortu 
nate  time.  You  shall  judge,  how 
ever,  for  I  wish  to  be  frank  with  you, 
the  more  so  because,  apart  from  the 
high  esteem  I  feel  for  your  charac 
ter,  our  common  welfare  is  at  stake 
at  this  moment." 

"  You  frighten  me,  general'." 

"You  will  be  more  frightened  di 
rectly;  know  that  this  Valentine, 
this  Frenchman,  this  demon,  has,  I 
know  not  by  what  means/  discovered 
our  conspiracy,  holds  all  the  threads 
of  it,  and,  more  than  that,  is  ac 
quainted  with  all  the  members  be 
ginning  with  myself." 

"Voto  a  briosf"  the  colonel  ex 
claimed,  with  a  start  of  surprise, 
and  turning  pale  with  terror,  "in 
that  case  we  are  lost." 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


119 


"  Well,  I  confess  that  our  chances 
of  success  are  considerably  dimin 
ished." 

"Pardon  me  for  asking,  general," 
he  continued  in  great  agitation, 
"  but  in  circumstances  like  the  pres 
ent " 

"Go  on,  go  on,  my  dear  colonel, 
do  not  be  em  harassed ." 

"Are  you  sure,  general,  perfectly 
certain  as  to  the  statement  you  have 
just  made  to  me?" 

"You  shall  judge.  About  an 
hour  before  the  opening  of  the  the 
atre,  Don  Valentine  himself — you 
understand  me  ? — came  to  my  house 
with  two  friends,  doubtless  cut 
throats  in  his  pay,  and  revealed  all 
to  me;  what  do  you  say  to  that?" 

"  I  say  that  if  this  man  does  not 
die  we  are  hopelessly  lost." 

"That  is  my  opinion,  too,"  the 
general  remarked  coldly. 

"  How  came  it  that,  in  spite  of 
this  terrible  revelation,  you  ventured 
to  show  yourself  at  the  theatre  ?" 

Don  Sebastian  smiled  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  disdain- 
fully. 

"Ought  I  to  let  even  indifferent 
persons  see  the  anxiety  that  devoured 
me?  Undeceive  yourself,  colonel; 
boldness  alone  can  save  us ;  do  not 
forget  that  we  are  risking  our  heads 
at  this  moment." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

"As  for  this  man,  the  Zaragate,  I 
must  not  and  will  "not  see  him  ;  but 
do  you  deal  with  him  as  you  think 
proper.  You  understand  that  it  is 
of  the  utmost  importance  that  I 
should  be  ignorant  of  the  arrange 
ments  you  may  make  with  him,  and 
be  able  to  prove,  if  necessary,  that 
I  had  no  knowledge  of  this.  More 
over,  as  you  are  aware,  I  am  not 
one  for  extreme  measures ;  the  sight 
of  such  a  villain  would  be  repulsive 
to  me,  for  I  have  such  a  horror  of 
bloodshed.  Alas !"  he  added,  with 


a  sigh,  "  I  have  been  forced  to  shed 
only  too  much  in  the  course  of  my 
life." 

"I  do  not  know  exactly,"  the 
colonel  muttered. 

"I  have  entire  confidence  in  you ; 
you  are  an  intelligent  man ;  I  give 
you  full  authority,  and  whatever 
you  do  will  be  well  done.  You 
understand  me,  I  trust?" 

"-Yes,  yes,  general,"  the  officer 
grunted  ill-temperedly,  "I  under 
stand  you  only  too  well." 

"  I  see " 

"What  do  you  see?"  the  other 
interrupted  him. 

"  That,  if  we  succeed,  you  will  be 
a  general  and  Governor  of  Sonora. 
That  is  rather  a  pretty  prospect,  I 
fancy,  and  one  worth  risking  some 
thing  for." 

"It  is  useless  to  remind  me  of 
your  promises,  general ;  you  are 
well  aware  that  I  am  devoted  to 
you." 

"  I  know  it,  of  course,  and  on  that 
account  leave  you.  A  longer  con 
versation  in  the  moonlight  might 
arouse  suspicions.  Good-night,  and 
come  and  breakfast  with  me  to 
morrow." 

"I  will  not  fail,  general.  Good 
night,  and  I  kiss  your  excellency's 
hands." 

The  general  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  wrapped  himself  in  his 
cloak,  and  went  off  hastily  towards 
the  Calle  de  Tacuba.  On  being  left 
alone,  the  colonel  remained  for  a 
moment  plunged  in  deep  thought; 
the  office  with  which  he  was  in 
trusted,  for  he  perfectly  caught  the 
meaning  of  the  general's  hints,  was 
most  serious.  He  must  act  vigor 
ously  without  compromising  his 
chief,  and  in  the  shortest  possible 
period,  under  the  penalty  of  being 
himself  arrested  and  shot  in  four- 
and-twenty  hours  if  he  failed.  For 
the  Mexicans,  like  their  old  masters 


120 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


the  Spaniards,  do  not  jest  in  matters  ' 
connected    with     revolutions,    and 
boldly  cut  away  the  evil  at  the  root, 
by   killing   all   the   leaders  of  the 
abortive  conspiracy. 

The  situation  was  critical,  and  he 
must  make  up  his  mind,  for  the 
slight  delay  might  ruin  all ;  but  at 
so  late  an  hour  where  was  he  to 
meet  a  man  like  the  Zaragate,  who 
had  probably  no  known  domicile, 
and  who  led  no  doubt  a  most  irreg 
ular  life. 

Mexico,  like  all  large  cities,  is 
amply  endowed  with  suspicious 
houses,  frequented  by  rogues  of  all 
ages,  who  are  continually  wandering 
about  in  search  of  adventures,  more 
or  less  lucrative,  under  the  compla 
cent  protection  of  the  moon. 

Moreover,  although  the  worthy 
colonel  had,  in  the  course  of  his  life, 
frequented  very  mixed  company,  as 
he  himself  allowed,  he  was  not  at 
all  anxious  to  venture  alone  at  night 
into  the  lower  parts  of  the  city,  and 
enter  the  velorios,  thorough  cut 
throat  dens,  filled  with  robbers  and 
assassins,  in  which  respectable  per 
sons  do  not  even  venture  in  bright 
day  without  a  shudder. 

At  the  moment  when  the  colonel 
mechanically  raised  his  head  and 
looked  despairingly  up  to  heaven, 
he  fancied  he  saw  several  suspicious 
shadows  prowling  about  him  in  a 
suggestive  manner.  But  the  colonel 
was  brave,  and  the  more  so,  because 
he  had  literally  nothing  to  lose, 
hence  he  quietly  loosened  his  sword, 
opened  his  cloak,  and  at  the  instant 
when  four  or  five  fellows  attacked 
him  at  once  with  machetes  and  long 
navajas,  he  was  on  guard  according 
to  all  the  rules  of  the  art,  with  his 
left  foot  supported  a  pillar,  and  his 
cloak  wrapped  like  a  buckler  round 
his  arm. 

The  attack  was  a  rude  one,  but 
the  colonel  withstood  it  manfully ; 


besides,  all  went  on  in  the  Mexican 
way,  without  a  shout  or  call  for  help. 
When  you  are  thus  attacked  in  a 
Mexican  street,  you  feel  so  assured 
of  death,  that  you  generally  confine 
yourself  to  the  best  possible  defence, 
without  losing  time  in  calling  for 
help,  which  will  certainly  not  ar 
rive. 

Still,  the  assailants  being  armed 
with  short  and  heavy  weapons,  had 
a  marked  disadvantage  against  the 
colonel's  long  and  thin  rapier,  which 
twisted  like  a  snake,  writhed  round 
their  weapons,  and  had  already 
pricked  two  of  the  men  sharply 
enough  to  make  the  others  reflect, 
and  display  greater  prudence  in 
their  attack.  The  colonel  felt  that 
they  were  giving  ground. 

''  Come  on,  villians,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  gave  a  terrific  lunge,  and  ran 
one  of  the  bandits  right  through  the 
body,  who  rolled  on  the  pavement 
with  a  yell  of  pain.  "  Let  us  come 
to  an  end  of  this,  in  the  demon's 
name !" 

"  Stop,  stop !"  the  man  who  seemed 
to  be  the  leader  of  the  bandits  ex 
claimed  ;  "  we  are  mistaken." 

As  the  bandits  asked  for  nothing 
better  than  to  stop,  they  retreated  a 
few  steps  without  hesitation. 

"  Yes,  Rayo  di  Dios,  you  are  mis 
taken,  birbones,"  the  exasperated 
colonel  shouted. 

"Can  it  possibly  be  you,"  the  first 
speaker  continued,  "  Senor  Colonel 
Don  Jaime  Lupo  ?" 

"  Halloh  1"  the  colonel  said,  falling 
back  a  step  in  surprise,  "  who  men 
tioned  my  name?" 

"  I,  excellency ;  a  friend." 

"  A  friend  ?  a  strange  friend  who 
has  been  trying  to  assassinate  me  for 
the  last  ten  minutes." 

"Believe  me,  colonel,  that  had  we 
known  whom  we  had  to  deal  with, 
we  should  never  have  attacked  you. 
All  this  is  the  result  of  a  deplorable 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


121 


misunderstanding,   which  you  will, 
however,  excuse." 

"But  who  are  you,  in  the  demon's 
name  ?" 

"  "What,  excellency,  do  you  not  rec 
ognize  the  Zaragate  ?'' 

"  The  Zaragate !"  the  colonel  ex 
claimed,  with  glad  surprise.  "Well, 
scoundrel,  are  you  aware  that  yours 
is  a  singular  trade?" 

"Alas  !  excellency,  a  man  must  do 
what  he  can,"  the  bandit  replied,  in 
a  sorrowful  voice. 

"  Hum !  then  you  have  turned  rob 
ber  at  present  ?" 

The  scoundrel  drew  himself  up 
with  dignity. 

"No,  excellency.  I  am  serving 
in  the  company  of  these  honorable 
caballeros  the  persons  who  claim  my 
help." 

The  honorable  caballeros,  seeing 
that  the  affair  was  going  to  end 
peacefully,  had  returned  their  knives 
to  their  belts,  and  seemed  tolerably 
well  satisfied  at  this  unexpected  con 
clusion,  with  the  exception  of  the 
man  who  had  received  the  last  thrust, 
an(t  surrendered  his  felon  soul  to  the 
fiend;  an  acquisition,  between  our 
selves,  of  no  great  value  to  the  spirit 
of  darkness. 

"Can  any  one  have  requested  your 
services  against  me,  Senor  Zara 
gate?"  the  colonel  continued,  as  he 
returned  his  sword  to  its  scabbard. 

"Not  at  all,  excellency.  I  have 
already  had  the  honor  of  remarking 
that  it  was  a  mistake;  we  were 
waiting  here  for  a  young  spark,  who 
during  the  last  week  has  contracted 
the  bad  habit  of  prowling  under 
the  window  of  a  senator's  mistress, 
and  who  asked  me  as  a  kindness  to 
free  him  from  this  troublesome  fel 
low." 

"Caspita!  Senor  Zaragate,  you 
have  a  rather  quick  way  with  you  ; 
and  your  senator  appears  to  me 


somewhat  hasty.  But  as  your  little 
matter  is  probably  spoiled  for  to 
night " 

"  I  think,  excellency,  that  the  gal 
lant  heard  the  clash  of  steel,  and  took 
very  good  care  not  to  come  on." 

"  If  he  did  so,  he  acted  wisely  ;  at 
any  rate,  if  no  other  motive  keeps 
you  here,  and  you  have  no  objection 
to  accompany  me,  I  shall  feel  obliged 
by  your  doing  so,  for  I  have  to  talk 
with  you  on  very  serious  matters, 
and,  in  fact,  was  looking  for  you." 

"Only  see  what  a  thing  chance 
is!"  the  bandit  exclaimed. 

"Hum !  let  us  hope  it  will  not  be 
quite  so  brutal  next  time." 

The  Zaragate  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Stay!"  the  colonel  continued,  as 
he  laid  a  gold  coin  in  his  hand,  "  be 
good  enough  to  give  this  in  my  name 
to  these  honorable  caballeros,  and 
beg  them  to  forgive  the  rather  rough 
way  in  which,  at  the  first  moment,  I 
received  their  advances." 

"  Oh,  they  will  not  owe  you  a 
grudge,  my  dear  sir,  you  may  be 
sure  of  that." 

The  bandits,  perfectly  reconciled 
with  the  colonel  by  means  of  the 
coin,  gave  him  tremendous  bows,  ac 
companied  by  offers  of  service,  and 
took  leave  of  him,  after  exchanging 
a  few  sentences  in  a  whisper  with 
their  chief:  then  they  went  off  to  the 
right,  while  the  colonel  and  his 
companion  turned  to  the  left. 

"They  seem  to  be. rather  deter 
mined  fellows,"  the  colonel  said,  in 
order  to  broach  his  subject. 

"Perfect  lions,  excellency,  and 
obedient  as  rastreos." 

"  Excellent ;  and  have  you  many 
of  that  sort  under  your  hand  ?" 

"  Nothing  would  be  easier,  in  the 
case  of  need,  than  to  make  up  a 
dozen." 

"All  equally  true?" 

"All." 


122 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


"  That  is  really  valuable,  do  you 
know  that,  Senor  Zaragate;  and 
you  are  a  lucky  caballero  !" 

"  Your  excellency  flatters  me." 

"  On  my  word,  no.  I  am  ex 
pressing  my  honest  opinion,  that  is 
all." 

"  Pardon  me,  excellency ;  but 
may  I  ask  where  we  are  going  ?" 

"  Have  you  an  inclination  for 
one  direction  more  than  another?" 

"Not  the  slightest,  excellency; 
still,  I  confess  that,  as  a  general 
rule,  I  like  to  know  where  I  am 
going." 

"Every  sensible  man  ought  to  be 
of  the  same  way  of  thinking.  Well, 
we  are  going  to  my  house ;  have 
you  any  objection  to  that?" 

"  None  at  all.  I  think  you  said, 
excellency,  that  I  was  a  lucky 
man?" 

"  Indeed  I  did,  and  I  repeat  that  I 
consider  you  very  fortunate." 

"Hum,  you  know  the  proverb, 
excellency,  'every  one  knows  where 
the  shoe  pinches  him.'  " 

"  That  is  true,  and  I  suppose  the 
shoe  pinches  you,  eh  ?" 

"  It  does,"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh. 

The  colonel  looked  at  him  anx 
iously.  "  I  understand  the  cause  of 
your  grief,"  he  said ;  "  and  it  is  the 
worse,  because  there  is  no  remedy 
for  it." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Caspita  !     I  am  certain  of  it." 

"You  may  be  mistaken,  excel 
lency." 

"Nonsense!  You  who  so  gra 
ciously  place  yourself  at  the  service 
of  those  who  have  an  insult  to 
avenge,  are  forced  to  renounce  your 
own  vengeance." 

"  Oh,  oh,  excellency,  what  is  that 
you  are  saying?" 

"  I  am  speaking  the  truth.  You 
hate  the  Frenchman  whom  you 
mentioned  to  me  to-day,  but  you  are 
afraid  of  him." 


"  Afraid  !"  he  exclaimed  angrily. 

"I  believe  so,"  the  colonel  an 
swered  coolly. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  only  made  up  my  mind 
to  it " 

"  Yes,"  the  colonel  remarked,  with 
a  laugh,  '•  but  you  will  not  make  up 
your  rnind  because,  I  repeat,  you  are 
afraid ;  and  to  prove  to  you  the 
truth  of  my  assertion,  although  I  do 
not  know  the  man,  and  only  take  an 
interest  in  the  matter  for  your  sake, 
I  will  make  you  a  wager  if  you 
like." 

"A  wager?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  bet  you  that  you  will  not  dare 
avenge  yourself  on  your  enemy 
within  the  next  four  and  twenty 
hours,  not  even  with  the  help  of 
your  twelve  companions." 

"  And  what  will  you  bet,  excel 
lency?" 

"  Well,  I  am  so  certain  of  running 
no  risk,  that  I  will  bet  you  one  hun 
dred  ounces.  Does  that  suit  you  ?" 

"  One  hundred  ounces  !"  the  ban 
dit  exclaimed,  his  eyes  sparkling 
with  greed.  "Viva  Dios !  I  would 
kill  my  own  brother  for  such  a  sum." 

"You  arc  flattering  yourself,  I 
see." 

"Here  we  are  at  your  door,  ex 
cellency,  so  it  is  needless  for  me  to 
go  any  further.  You  said  one  hun 
dred  ounces,  I  think  ?" 

"I  did." 

"  Farewell.  The  coming  day  will 
not  end  before  I  am  avenged !" 

"Nonsense,  nonsense!  you  will 
think  better  of  it.  Good-night, 
Senor  Zaragate." 

And  the  colonel  entered  his  house, 
muttering  to  himself,  in  an  aside,  "I 
fancy  I  managed  that  cleverly.  If 
this  accursed  Frenchman  escapes 
from  the  blood-hounds  I  have  let 
loose  on  him,  he  must  be  the  demon 
the  general  calls  him." 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


J23 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AFTER  THE   INTERVIEW. 

THE  house  taken  for  Valentine  by 
Mr.  Rallier  was,  as  we  have  already 
stated,  situated  in  the  Calle  de  Ta- 
cuba,  and  by  a  strange  accident,  in 
no  way  premeditated,  only  a  few 
yards  from  the  mansion  belonging 
to  General  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero. 
The  latter  had  no  suspicion  of  this, 
for  until  the  moment  when  the 
hunter  thought  it  advisable  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  he  had  been  completely 
ignorant  of  his  enemy's  presence  in 
Mexico,  in  spite  of  the  crowd  of 
spies  whom  he  paid  to  inform  him 
of  his  arrival  in  the  capital. 

The  hunter,  therefore,  would  only 
have  had  a  few  steps  to  go  to  reach 
home  after  leaving  the  general.  But 
suspecting  that  the  latter  might  have 
given  orders  to  have  his  carriage 
followed,  he  ordered  his  coachman  to 
drive  to  the  Alameda,  and  thence  to 
the  Paseo  de  Bucarelli. 

As  the  night  was  far  advanced, 
the  prornenaders  had  abandoned  the 
shady  walks  of  the  Alameda,  which 
was  now  completely  deserted.  This, 
doubtless,  was  what  the  hunter  de 
sired,  for,  on  reaching  about  the 
centre  of  the  drive,  he  ordered  the 
coachman  to  stop,  and  got  out  with 
his  companions.  After  recommend 
ing  him  to  watoh  carefully  over  his 
mules  (in  Mexico  people  do  not  use 
horses  for  their  carriages),  and  not 
let  any  one  approach  him,  for  fear 
of  one  of  those  surprises  so  frequent 
at  this  hour  at  this  place,  the  three 
men  then  disappeared  in  one  of  the 
shady  walks,  though  careful  not  to 
go  too  far,  so  that  they  could  assist 
their  coachman  in  case  of  need. 

Valentine,  like  all  men  accus 
tomed  to  desert  life,  that  is  to  vast 
horizons  of  verdure,  had  an  instinc 
tive  distrust  of  stone-walls,  behind 


which,  in  his  fancy,  a  spy  was  con 
tinually  listening.  Hence,  when  he 
had  an  important  affair  to  discuss, 
or  a  serious  matter  to  communicate 
to  his  friends,  he  preferred — in  spite 
of  the  care  with  which  his  house  had 
been  chosen,  and  the  faithful  friends 
who  passed  as  servants  there — going 
to  the  Alameda,  the  Paseo  de  Buca 
relli,  the  Vega,  or  somewhere  in  the 
environs  of  Mexico,  where,  after  post 
ing  Curumilla  as  a  sentry,  that  is  to 
say,  the  man  in  whom  he  had  the  most 
perfect  faith,  and  whose  scent,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  term,  was  infal 
lible,  he  believed  that  he  could  safely 
confide  his  closest  secrets  to  the 
friends  he  conveyed  to  these  strange 
open-air  councils. 

On  reaching  a  thick  clump  of 
trees,  the  hunter  stopped. 

"  "We  shall  be  comfortable  here," 
he  said,  as  he  sat  down  on  a  stone- 
bench  and  invited  his  friends  to 
imitate  him,  "and  shall  be  able  to 
talk  without  fear." 

"  The  trees  have  eyes,  and  the 
leaves  ears,"  Belhumeur  answered 
sententiously ;  "I  fear  nothing  so 
much  in  the  world  as  these  trans 
parent  screens  of  verdure,  which 
allow  every  thing  to  be  seen  and 
heard." 

"  Yes,"  Valentine  remarked  with 
a  smile,  "  if  you  do  not  take  the 
precaution  to  frighten  away  spies ;" 
and  at  the  same  moment  he  imitated 
the  soft  cadenced  hiss  of  the  coral 
snake. 

A  similar  hiss  was  heard  from  the 
centre  of  the  clump  and  seemed  like 
an  echo. 

"  That  is  the  chief's  signal,"  the 
hunter  said.  "  He  has  been  watch 
ing  for  us  there  for  nearly  an  hour. 
Do  you  now  believe  that  we  are  in 
safety  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  when  Curumilla 
watches  over  us  we  have  no  sur 
prise  to  apprehend." 


124 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


"Let  us  talk,  then,"  said  Don 
Martial. 

"  One    moment,"    Valentine    re 
marked,  "we   must  first   hear  the 
report  of  a  friend,  which  is  most 
valuable,  and  will  doubtless  decide 
the  measured  we  have  to  adopt." 
"  Whom  are  you  alluding  to  ?" 
"You   shall   see,"  Valentine  an 
swered,  and  clapped  his  hands  thrice 
softly. 

Immediately  a  slight  sound  and  a 
gentle  rustling  of  leaves  was  heard 
in  a  neighboring  thicket,  and  a  man 
suddenly  emerged,  about  four  paces 
from  the  hunters.  It  was  Carnero, 
the  capataz  of  General  Guerrero. 
He  wore  a  vicuna  skin  hat,  of  which 
the  large  brim  was  bent  over  his 
eyes,  and  he  was  wrapped  up  in  a 
spacious  cloak. 

"Good-evening,  senores,"  he  said, 
with  a  polite  bow,  "I  have  been 
awaiting  your  coming  for  nearly  an 
hour,  and  almost  despaired  of  seeing 
you  to-night." 

"We  were  detained  longer  than 
we  expected  by  General  Guerrero." 
"  Do  }7ou  come  from  him  ?" 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  I  should  call 
on  him  ?" 

"  Yes ;  but  I  hardly  believed  that 
you  would  have  the  temerity  to 
venture  so  imprudently  into  the 
lion's  den." 

"Nonsense,"  Valentine  said  with 
a  disdainful  smile,  "  the  lion,  as  you 
call  him,  I  assure  you,  is  remarkably 
tame ;  he  drew  in  his  claws  com 
pletely,  and  received  us  with  the 
most  exquisite  politeness." 

"  In  that  case  take  care,"  the  capa 
taz  replied,  with  a  significant  shake 
of  the  head ;  "  if  he  received  you, 
as  you  say,  and  I  have  no  reason  to 
doubt  it,  he  is,  be  assured,  prepar 
ing  a  terrible  countermine  against 
you." 

"I  am  of  the  same  opinion;  the 


question  is,  whether  we  shall  allow 
him  the  time  to  act." 

"  He  is  very  clever,  my  dear  Val 
entine,"  the  capataz  continued,  "and 
seems  to  possess  an  intuition  of  evil. 
In  spite  of  the  oath  I  took  to  you 
when,  on  your  entreaty,  I  consented 
to  remain  in  his  service,  there  are 
days  when,  although  I  possess  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  his  charac 
ter,  he  terrifies  even  me,  and  I  feel 
on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  rude 
task  which,  through  devotion  to 
you,  I  have  imposed  on  myself." 

"  Courage,  my  friend  ;  persevere 
but  a  few  days  longer,  and,  believe 
me,  we  shall  be  all  avenged." 

"  May  heaven  grant  it !"  the  capa 
taz  said,  with  a  sigh;  "but  I  con 
fess  that  I  dare  not  believe  it,  even 
though  it  is  you  who  assure  me  of 
the  fact." 

"Have  you  learnt  any  important 
news  since  our  last  interview?" 

"  Only  one  thing,  but  I  think  it 
is  of  the  utmost  gravity  for  you." 

"Speak,  my  friend." 

"  What  I  have  to  tell  you  is  short 
and  gloomy,  senores.  The  general, 
after  a  secret  conversation  with  his 
man  of  business,  ordered  me  to 
carry  a  letter  to  the  Convent  of 
Bernardi  nes." 

"  To  the  convent  ?"  Don  Martial 
exclaimed. 

"Silence,"  said  Valentine.  "Do 
you  know  the  contents  of  this  let 
ter?" 

"  Dona  Anita  gave  it  me  to  read. 
The  general  informs  the  abbess  that 
he  is  resolved  to  finish  the  matter; 
that  whether  his  ward  be  mad  or 
not,  he  means  to  marry  her,  and 
that  at  sunrise  on  the  day  after  to 
morrow,  a  priest  sent  by  him  will 
present  himself  at  the  convent  to 
arrange  *he  ceremony." 

"Great  God!  what  is  to  be 
done?''  the  Tigrero  exclaimed  sad- 


THE     BED     TRACK. 


125 


ly ;  "  bow  is  the  execution  of  this 
odious  machination  to  be  pre 
vented  ?" 

"Silence,"  Valentine  repeated. 
"Is  that  all,  Carnero?" 

"  No ;  the  general  adds,  that  he 
requests  the  abbess  to  prepare  the 
young  lady  for  this  union,  and  that 
he  will  himself  call  at  the  convent 
to-morrow,  in  order  to  explain  more 
fully  his  inexorable  wishes — these 
are  the  very  words  of  the  letter." 

"  Very  good,  my  friend,  I  thank 
you  for  this  precious  information ; 
it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that 
the  general  should  be  prevented 
from  going  to  the  convent  before 
three  o'clock  of  the  tarde.  You  un 
derstand,  my  friend,  this  is  of  vital 
importance,  so  you  must  manage  to 
effect  it." 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,  my  dear  Val 
entine  ;  the  general  shall  not  go  to 
the  convent  before  the  hour  you 
indicate,  whatever  may  be  the 
means  I  am  forced  to  employ  to 
prevent  him." 

"I  count  on  your  promise,  my 
friend ;  and  now  good-by." 

He  offered  him  his  hand,  which 
the  capataz  pressed  forcibly. 

"  When  shall  I  see  you,  again  ?" 
he  asked. 

"I  will  soon  let  you  know,"  the 
hunter  answered. 

The  capataz  bowed  and  went 
down  a  walk ;  the  sound  of  his 
footsteps  rapidly  decreased,  and  was 
quite  inaudible  within  a  few  min 
utes. 

"  My  friends,"  Valentine  then  said, 
lt  we  have  now  arrived  at  the  moment 
for  the  final  struggle,  which  we  have 
so  long  boon  preparing.  We  must 
not  let  ourselves  be  led  away  by 
hatred,  but  act  like  judges,  not  as 
men  who  are  avenging  themselves. 
Blood  demands  blood,  it  is  true,  ac 
cording  to  the  law  of  the  desert ; 
but,  remember,  however  culpable 

8 


the  man  whom  we  have  condemned 
may  be,  his  death  would  be  an  in 
delible  spot,  a  brand  of  infamy 
which  would  sully  our  honor." 

"  But  this  monster,"  the  Tigrero 
exclaimed,  with  a  passion  the  more 
violent  because  it  was  repressed, 
"is  beyond  the  pale  of  humanity." 

"  He  may  re-enter  it  to  repent." 

"Are  we  priests  then  to  practise 
forgetfulness  of  insults  ?"  Don  Mar 
tial  asked  with  a  fiendish  grin. 

"  No,  my  friend,  there  are  men  in 
the  grand  and  sublime  acceptation 
of  the  term ;  men  who  have  often 
been  faulty  themselves,  and  who, 
rendered  better  by  the  life  of  strug 
gling  they  have  led,  and  the  grief 
which  has  frequently  bowed  them 
beneath  its  iron  yoke,  inflict  a  chas 
tisement,  but  despise  vengeance, 
which  they  leave  to  weak  and  pu 
sillanimous  minds.  Who  of  you, 
my  friends,  would  dare  to  say  that  he 
has  suffered  more  than  I  ?  To  him 
alone  will  I  concede  the  right  of 
imposing  his  will  on  me,  and  what 
he  bids  me  do  I  will  do." 

"Forgive  me,  my  friend,"  the 
Tigrero  answered,  "you  are  ever 
good,  ever  great.  God,  in  imposing 
on  you  a  heavy  task,  endowed  you 
at  the  same  time  with  an  energetic 
soul,  and  a  heart  which  seems  to 
exp.and  in  your  bosom  under  the 
blast  of  adversity,  instead  of  with 
ering.  We,  however,  are  but  com 
mon  men,  in  whom  the  sanguinary 
instinct  of  the  savage  is  constantly 
revealed  in  spite  of  all  our  efforts, 
and  who  know  uo  other  law  save 
that  of  retaliation.  Forget  the  sense 
less  words  my  lips  uttered,  and  be  as 
sured  that  I  will  ever  joyfully  obey 
you,  whatever  you  may  command, 
persuaded  as  I  am,  that  you  can 
only  ask  the  man  who  has  utterly 
placed  himself  in  your  power  to  do 
just  actions." 

The  hunter,  while  his  friend  was 


126 


T*EIE    RED    TRACK. 


speaking  thus  in  a  voice  broken  by 
emotion,  had  let  his  head  fall  on  his 
hands,  and  seemed  absorbed  in 
gloomy  and  painful  thought. 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive  you, 
my  friend,"  he  replied  in  a  gentle, 
sympathizing  voice,  "for  through 
my  own  sufferings  I  can  understand 
what  yours  are.  I,  too,  often  feel 
my  heart  bound  with  wrath  and  in 
dignation  ;  for,  believe  me,  my 
friend,  I  have  a  constant  struggle  to 
wage  against  myself,  not  to  let  my 
self  be  led  away  to  make  a  ven 
geance  of  what  must  only  be  a  pun 
ishment.  But  enough  on  this  head ; 
time  presses,  and  we  must  arrange 
our  plans,  so  as  not  to  be  foiled  by 
our  enemies.  I  went  to-day  to  the 
palace,  where  I  had  a  secret  conver 
sation  with  the  President  of  the  Re 
public,  whom,  as  you  are  aware,  I 
have  known  for  many  years,  and 
who  honors  me  with  a  friendship  of 
which  I  am  far  from  believing  my 
self  worthy.  At  the  end  of  our  in 
terview  he  handed  me  a  paper,  a 
species  of  blank  signature,  by  the 
aid  of  which  I  can  do  what  I  think 
advisable  for  the  success  of  our 
plans." 

"Did  you  obtain  such  a  paper?" 

"I  have  it  in  my  pocket.  Now, 
listen  to  me.  You  will  go  at  sunrise 
to-morrow  to  the  house  of  Don  An 
tonio  Rallier;  he  will  be  informed 
of  your  coming,  and  you  will  follow 
his  instructions." 

"And  you?" 

"Do  not  be  anxious  about  my 
movements,  good  friend,  and  only 
think  of  your  own  business,  for,  I 
repeat,  the  decisive  moment  is  ap 
proaching.  The  day  after  to-mor 
row  begins  the  feast  of  the  anniver 
sary  of  Mexican  Independence ;  that 
is  to  say,  on  that  day  we  shall  do 
battle  with  our  enemy,  and  meet  him 
face  to  face;  and  the  combat  will 
be  a  rude  one,  for  this  man  has  a  will 


of  iron,  and  a  terrible  energy.  We 
shall  be  able  to  conquer  him,  but  not 
to  subdue  him,  and  if  we  do  not  take 
care  he  will  slip  through  our  hands 
like  a  serpent;  hence  our  personal 
affairs  must  be  finished  to-morrow. 
Though  apparently  absent,  I  shall 
be  really  near  you,  that  is  to  say,  I 
will  help  you  with  all  my  power. 
Still,  do  not  forget  that  you  must 
act  with  the  most  extreme  pru 
dence,  arid,  above  all,  the  greatest 
moderation  ;  a  second  of  forgetful- 
ness  would  ruin  you,  by  alarming 
the  innumerable  spies  scattered 
round  the  Convent  of  the  Bernar- 
dines.  I  trust  that  you  have  heard 
and  understood  rne,  my  friend  ?" 

"Yes,  Don  Valentine." 

"And  you  will  act  as  I  recom 
mend?" 

"I  promise  it." 

"Reflect,  that  you  are  perhaps 
risking  the  loss  of  your  future  hap 
piness." 

"  I  will  not  forget  your  recommen 
dation,  I  swear  to  you ;  I  am  risk 
ing  too  great  a  stake  in  this  game, 
which  must  decide  my  future  life, 
to  let  myself  be  induced  to  commit 
any  act  of  violence." 

"Good  ;  I  am  happy  to  hear  you 
speak  thus; -but  have  confidence, 
my  friend,  I  feel  certain  that  we 
shall  succeed." 

"  May  heaven  hear  you  !" 

"  It  always  hears  those  who  ap 
peal  to  it  with  a  pure  heart  and  a 
lively  faith.  Hope,  I  tell  you.  And 
now,  my  dear  Don  Martial,  permit 
me  to  say  a  few  words  to  our  wor 
thy  friend,  Belli  umeur." 

"  I  will  withdraw." 

"What  for?  have  I  any  secrets 
from  you?  You  can  hear  what  I 
am  going  to  say  to  him." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  say  to  me, 
Valentine,"  the  hunter  said  with  a 
shake  of  his  head,  "nothing  but 
what  I  know  already ;  I  have  no 


THE    EED    TRACK. 


127 


other  interest  in  what  is  about  to 
take  place  beyond  the  deep  friend 
ship  that  attached  me  to  the  count 
and  now  to  you.  You  think  that 
the  recollection  I  have  preserved  of 
our  unhappy  friend  cannot  be  suf 
ficiently  engraven  on  my  heart  for 
me  to  risk  my  life  at  your  side  in 
avenging  him;  but  you  are  mistaken, 
Valentine,  that's  all.  I  will  not 
abandon  you  in  the  hour  of  combat ; 
I  will  remain  at  your  side  even 
should  you  order  me  to  leave  you. 
I  tell  you  that  I  swear,  and  have 
taken  an  oath  to  that  effect,  to  make 
a  shield  of  my  body  to  protect  you, 
if  it  should  be  necessary.  Now, 
give  me  your  hand,  and  suppose  we 
say  no  more  about  it  ?" 

Valentine  remained  silent  for  a 
moment ;  a  scalding  tear  ran  down 
his  bronzed  cheek,  and  he  took  the 
hand  of  the  honest,  simple-minded 
Canadian,  and  merely  uttered  the 
words — 

"  Thank  you ;  I  accept." 

They  then  rose,  and  returned  to 
their  carriage,  after  Valentine  had 
warned  his  faithful  body-guard, 
Curumilla,  by  a  signal  that  he  could 
leave  his  hiding-place,  as  the  inter 
view  was  over.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  the  three  gentlemen 
reached  the  house  in  the  Calle  de 
Tacuba,  where  Curumilla  was  al 
ready  awaiting  them. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

PHE   BLANK  SIGNATURE. 


ON  the  morrow,  Mexico  awoke 
to  a  holiday ;  nothing  extraordinary, 
in  a  country  where  the  year  is  a 
perpetual  holiday,  and  where  the 
most  frivolous  pretext  suffices  for 


letting  off  cohetes,  that  supreme 
amusement  of  the  Mexicans. 

This  time  the  affair  was  serious, 
for  the  inhabitants  wished  to  cele 
brate  in  a  proper  manner  the  anni 
versary  of  the  Proclamation  of  In 
dependence,  of  which  the  day  to 
which  we  allude  was  the  eve. 

At  sunrise  a  formidable  bando 
issued  from  the  government  palace, 
and  went  through  all  the  streets  and 
squares  of  the  city,  announcing  with 
a  mighty  clamor  of  bugles  and 
drums,  that  on  the  next  day  there 
would  be  a  bull-fight  with  "Jamaica" 
and  "  Monte  Parnasso"  for  the  lepe- 
ros,  high  mass  celebrated  in  all  the 
churches,  theatres  thrown  open 
gratis,  a  review  of  the  garrison,  and 
of  all  the  troops  quartered  sixty 
miles  round,  and  fireworks  and  illu 
minations  at  night,  with  open-air 
balls  and  feria. 

The  government  did  things  nobly, 
it  must  be  confessed;  hence  the 
people  issued  from  their  houses, 
spread  feverishly  through  the  streets 
at  an  early  hour,  laughing,  shout 
ing,  and  letting  off  squibs,  while 
singing  the  praises  of  the  President 
of  the  Republic,  and  taking,  after 
their  fashion,  something  on  account 
of  the  morrow's  festival. 

Don  Martial,  in  order  to  throw 
out  the  spies  doubtless  posted  round 
Valentine's  house,  had  left  his  friend 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  gone 
to  his  lodgings,  and  a  few  minutes 
before  day  proceeded  to  the  house 
of  Mr.  Rallier. 

Although  the  sun  was  not  yet 
above  the  horizon,  the  French  gen 
tleman  was  already  up  and  con 
versing  with  his  brother  Edward, 
while  waiting  for  the  Tigrero.  Ed 
ward  was  ready  to  start,  and  his 
brother  was  giving  him  has  parting 
recommendations. 

"  You  are  welcome,"  the  French 
man  said,  cordially,  on  perceiving 


128 


THE    EED    TRACK. 


Don  Martial ;  "  I  was  busy  with  our 
affair.  My  brother  Edward  is  just 
off  to  our  q-uinta,  whither  my  mother 
and  my  brother  Auguste  proceeded 
two  days  ago,  so  that  we  might  find 
all  in  order  on  our  arrival." 

Although  the  Tigrero  did  not  en 
tirely  understand  what  the  banker 
said  to  him,  he  considered  it  un 
necessary  to  show  it,  and  hence 
bowed  without  answering. 

"All  this  is  settled,  then,"  Mr. 
Eallier  continued,  addressing  his 
brother;  "get  every  thing  ready, 
for  we  shall  probably  arrive  before 
mid-day — that  is  to  sav,  in  time  for 
lunch." 

"Your  country-house  is  not  far 
from  the  city  ?"  the  Tigrero  asked, 
for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

"Hardly  five  miles;  it  is  at  St. 
Angel ;  but  in  an  excellent  position 
for  defence  in  the  event  of  an  attack. 
You  are  aware  that  St.  Angel  is 
built  on  the  side  of  an  extinct  vol 
cano,  and  surrounded  by  lava  and 
spongy  scoria,  which  renders  an  ap 
proach  very  difficult." 

"  I  must  confess  my  ignorance  of 
the  fact." 

'•'In  a  country  like  this,  where 
the  government  is  bound  to  think 
of  its  own  defence  before  troubling 
itself  about  individuals,  it  is  as  well 
to  take  one's  precautions,  and  be  al 
ways  perfectly  on  guard.  And  now 
be  off,  my  dear  Edward;  your 
weapons  are  all  right,  and  two  reso 
lute  peons  will  accompany  you ;  be 
sides,  the  sun  is  now  rising,  and  you 
will  have  a  pleasant  ride ;  so  good- 
by  till  we  meet  again." 

The  two  brothers  shook  hands, 
and  the  young  man,  after  bowing  to 
Don  Martial,  left  the  house,  followed 
by  two  servants  well  mounted,  and 
armed  like  himself.  During  this 
conversation  the  peons  had  put  the 
horses  in  a  close  carriage. 

"Get  in,"  said  Mr.  Rallier. 


"What!"  Don  Martial  replied, 
"are  we  going  to  drive?" 

"By  Jove!  do  you  think  I  would 
venture  to  go  to  the  convent  on 
horseback?  why,  we  could  not  go 
along  a  street  before  we  were  recog 
nized." 

"But  this  carriage  will  betray 
you." 

"I  admit  it;  but  no  one  will  know 
whom  it  contains  when  the  shutters 
are  drawn  up,  which  I  shall  be  care 
ful  to  do  before  leaving  the  house. 
Come,  get  in." 

The  Tigrero  placed  himself  by 
the  Frenchman's  side ;  the  latter 
pulled  up  the  shutters,  and  started 
at  a  gallop  in  a  direction  diametri 
cally  opposed  to  that  which  it  should 
have  followed,  in  order  to  reach  the 
convent. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  the  Ti 
grero  asked,  presently. 

"To  the  Convent  of  the  Bernard 
ines." 

"I  fancy  we  are  not  going  the 
right  road." 

"That  is  possible;  but,  at  any 
rate,  it  is  the  safest." 

."  I  humbly  confess  that  I  cannot 
understand  it  at  all." 

Mr.  Rallier  began  laughing. 

"My  good  fellow,"  he  replied, 
"you  will  understand  at  the  right 
time :  so  be  easy.  You  need  only 
know,  that  in  acting  as  I  am  doing, 
I  am  carrying  out  to  the  letter  the 
instructions  of  Valentine,  my  friend 
and  yours.  It  was  not  for  nothing 
that  he  has  so  long  borne  the  name 
of  the  Trail-hunter ;  besides,  you  re 
member  the  prairie  adage,  which  has 
always  appeared  to  me  full  of  good 
sense,  'The  shortest  road  from  one 
point  to  another  is  a  crooked  line.' 
Well,  we  are  following  the  crooked 
line — that  is  all.  Besides,  in  all  that 
is  about  to  take  place,  you  must  re 
main  completely  out  of  the  question, 
and  restrict  yourself  to  being  a  spec- 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


129 


tator,  rather  than  an  actor,  and  wil 
ling  to  obey  me  in  every  thing  I 
may  order.  Does  this  part  displease 
you?" 

The  Frenchman  said  .this  with 
the  merry  accent  and  delightful  sim 
plicity  which  formed  the  basis  of 
his  character,  and  which  caused 
everybody  to  like  him  whom  acci 
dent  brought  in  contact  with  him. 

"I  have  no  repugnance  to  obey 
you,  Senor  Don  Antonio,"  the  Ti- 
grero  answered.  "The  confidence 
our  common  friend  places  in  you  is 
a  sure  guarantee  to  me  of  your  in 
tentions.  Hence  dispose  of  me  as 
you  think  proper,  without  fearing 
the  slightest  objection  on  my  part." 

"That  is  the  way  to  talk,"  the 
banker  said,  with  a  laugh.  "Now, 
to  begin,  rny  dear  senor,  you  will 
do  me  the  pleasure  of  changing 
your  dress,  for  the  one  you  wear  is 
slightly  too  worldly  for  the  place  to 
which  we  are  going. 

"  Change  my  dress  ?"  the  Tigrero 
exclaimed.  "Diablos!  you  ought 
to  have  told  me  so  at  your  house." 

"Unnecessary,  my  dear  sir.  I 
have  all  you  require  here." 

"Here?" 

"Well,  you  shall  see,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  from  one  of  the  coach 
pockets  a  Franciscan's  gown,  while 
from  the  other  he  drew  a  pair  of 
sandals  and  a  cord.  "  Have  you  not 
worn  this  dress  before  ?" 

"  I  have." 

"  Well,  you  are  going  to  put  it  on 
again,  and  for  the  following  reasons : 
At  the  convent,  people  believe  (or 
pretend  to  believe,  which  comes  to 
the  same  thing)  that  you  are  a 
Franciscan  monk,  For  the  sake, 
then,  of  persons  who  are  not  in  the 
secret,  it*  is  necessary  that  I  should 
be  accompanied  by  a  monk,  and 
more,  that  they  may  be  able,  if  re 
quired,  to  take  their  oaths  to  the 
fact." 


"I  obey  you.  But  will  not  your 
coachman  be  surprised  at  seeing  a 
Franciscan  emerge  from  the  carriage 
into  which  he  showed  a  caballero  ?" 

"My  coachman?  Pardon  me, 
but  I  do  not  think  you  looked  at 
him?" 

"Irfdeed,  I  did  not.  All  these 
Indians  are  alike,  and  equally 
hideous." 

"That  is  true;  however,  look  at 
him." 

Don  Martial  bent  forward,  and 
slightly  lowered  the  shutter. 

"  Curumilla !"  he  cried,  in  amaze 
ment,  as  he  drew  back.  "  He,  and 
so  well  disguised  ?" 

"  Do  you  now  believe  that  he  will 
be  surprised  ?" 

"  I  was  wrong.'7 

"No,  but  you  do  not  take  the 
trouble  to  reflect." 

"  Well,  I  will  put  on  the  gown 
since  I  must.  Still,  with  your  per 
mission,  I  will  keep  my  weapons 
under  it." 

"  Caspita  !  my  permission  ?  On 
the  contrary,  I  order  you  to  do  so. 
But  what  are  they?" 

"You  shall  see.  A  machete,  a 
knife,  and  a  pair  of  pistols.'' 

"  That  is  first-rate.  If  necessary, 
I  shall  be  able  to  find  you  a  rifle. 
Trust  to  me  for  that." 

While  talking  thus,  the  Tigrero 
had  changed  his  dress ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  had  simply  put  the  gown 
over  his  other  clothes,  fastened  the 
rope  round  his  bod}',  and  substi 
tuted  the  sandals  for  his  boots. 

"There,"  the  Frenchman  con 
tinued,  "you  are  a  perfect  monk." 

"No;  I  want  something  more, 
something  which  is  even  indis 
pensable." 

"What's  that?" 

"  The  hat." 

«  That's  true." 

"That  part  of  my  costume  I 
hardly  know  how  we  shall  obtain.'' 


130 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


'•  Man  of  little  faith  !"  the  French 
man  said  with  a  smile,  "  see,  and  be 
confounded  1" 

While  speaking  thus  he  raised 
the  front  cushion,  opened  the  box 
it  covered,  and  pulled  out  the  hat 
of  a  rnonk  of  St.  Francis,  which  he 
gave  the  Tigrero. 

"  And  now  do  you  want  any 
thing  else,  pray?"  he  asked,  mock- 


"Indeed,  no.  Why,  your  car 
riage  is  a  perfect  locomotive  shop  !" 

"  Yes,  it  contains  a  little  of  every 
thing.  But  we  have  arrived,"  he 
added,  seeing  the  carriage  stop. 
"You  remember  that  you  must  in 
no  way  make  yourself  prominent, 
and  simply  confine  yourself  to 
doing  what  I  tell  you.  That  is 
settled,  I  think?" 

The  Frenchman  opened  the  door, 
for  the  carriage  had  really  stopped 
in  front  of  the  Convent  of  the 
Bernardines.  Two  or  three  ill-look 
ing  fellows  were  prowling  about: 
and,  in  spite  of  their  affected  indif 
ference,  it  was  easy  to  recognize 
them  for  spies.  The  Frenchman 
and  his  companion  were  not  de 
ceived.  They  got  out  with  an  in 
difference  as  well  assumed  as  that 
of  the  spies,  and  approached  the 
door  slowly,  which  was  opened  at 
their  first  knock,  and  closed  again 
behind  them  with  a  speed  that  proved 
the  slight  confidence  the  sister  por 
ter  placed  in  the  individuals  left 
outside. 

"What  do  you  desire,  senores  ?" 
she  asked,  politely,  after  curtseying 
to  the  new-comers  with  a  smile  of 
recognition. 

"  My  dear  sister,"  the  Frenchman 
answered,  "  be  good  enough  to  in 
form  the  holy  mother  abbess  of  our 
visit,  and  ask  her  to  favor  us  with 
an  interview  for  a  few  moments." 

"  It  is  still  very  early,  brother," 
the  nun  answered,  "and  I  do  not 


know  if  holy  mother  can  receive 
you  at  this  moment." 

"  Merely  mention  my  name  to  her 
sister,  and  I  feel  convinced  that  she 
will  make  no  difficulty  about  re 
ceiving  us." 

'•  I  doubt  it,  brother,  for,  as  I  said 
before,  it  is  very  early.  Still,  I  am 
willing  to  tell  her,  in  order  to 
prove  to  you  my  readiness  to  serve 
you." 

"  I  feel  deeply  grateful  to  you  for 
the  kindness,  sister." 

The.  sister  then  left  the  parlor, 
after  begging  the  two  gentlemen  to 
wait  a  moment.  During  her  absence 
the  Frenchman  and  his  companion 
did  not  exchange  a  syllable ;  how 
ever,  this  absence  was  short,  and  only 
lasted  a  few  minutes. 

Without  speaking,  the  sister  made 
the  visitors  a  sign  to  follow  her,  and 
led  them  to  the  parlor  where  we 
have  already  taken  the  reader,  and 
where  the  abbess  was  waiting  for 
them. 

The  Mother  Superior  was  pale, 
and  seemed  anxious  and  pre-occu- 
pied.  She  invited  the  two  gentle 
men  to  sit  down,,  and  waited  silently 
till  they  addressed  her.  They,  on  their 
side,  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her  to 
inquire  into  the  nature  of  their  visit; 
but,  as  she  did  not  do  so,  and  this 
silence  threatened  to  be  prolonged 
for  some  time,  Mr.  Ballier  resolved 
on  breaking  it. 

"I  had  the  honor,  madam,"  he 
said,  with  a  respectful  bow,  "  to  send 
you  yesterday,  by  one  of  my  ser 
vants,  a  letter,  in  which  I  informed 
you  of  this  morning's  visit." 

"  Yes,  caballero,"  she  at  once  an 
swered,  "  I  duly  received  this  letter, 
and  your  sister  Helena  is  ready  to 
go  away  with  you,  whenever  you 
express  the  wish.  Still  permit  me 
to  make  one  request  of  you." 

'•  Speak,  madam,  and  if  I  can  be 
of  any  service  to  you,  believe  me 


THE    BED    TEACK. 


131 


that  I  shall  eagerly  seize  the  oppor 
tunity." 

"I  know  not,  caballero,  how  to 
explain  myself,  for  what  I  have  to 
say  to  you  is  really  so  strange  that 
I  fear  lest  it  should  call  up  a  smile 
to  your  lips.  Although  Dona  Hele 
na  has  only  been  a  few  months  in 
our  convent,  she  has  made  herself  so 
beloved  by  all  her  companions, 
through  her  charming  character,  that 
her  departure  is  an  occasion  of 
mourning  for  all  of  us." 

"  You  render  me  very  happy  and 
very  proud  by  speaking  thus  of  my 
sister,  madam." 

"  This  praise  is  only  the  expres 
sion  of  the  strictest  truth,  caballero. 
"We  are  all  really  most  grieved  to 
see  her  leave  us  thus.  Still,  I  should 
not  have  ventured  thus  to  make 
myself  the  interpreter  of  our  regrets, 
were  there  not  a  very  strong  reason 
that  renders  it  almost  a  duty  to  speak 
to  you." 

"I  am  listening  to  you,  madam, 
though  I  can  guess  beforehand  what 
you  are  going  to  say  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"You  guess!  Oh,  it  is  impossi 
ble,  senor,"  she  exclaimed. 

The  Frenchman  smiled. 

"My  sister,  Dona  Helena,  as  is 
generally  the  case  in  convents,  has 
chosen  one  of  her  companions,  whom 
she  loves  more  than  the  others,  and 
made  her  her  intimate  friend.  Is 
such  the  case,  madam?" 

"How  do  you  know  it?" 

He  continued,  with  a  smile — 

"  Now  this  ypung  lady,  so  beloved 
not  only  by  Helena  but  by  you, 
madam,  and  all  your  community,  is 
a  gentle,  kind,  loving  girl,  who,  in 
consequence  of  a  great  misfortune, 
became  insane,  but  whom  your  ten 
der  care  has  restored  to  reason. 
Still,  you  keep  the  latter  fact  a  pro 
found  secret,  before  all  from  her 
guardian,  who,  not  contented  with 


having  stripped  her  of  her  fortune, 
now  insists  on  robbing  her  of  her 
happiness  by  forcing  her  to  marry 
him." 

"Senor,  senor,"  the  abbess  ex 
claimed,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat, 
with  an  astonishment  blended  with 
terror,  "  who  are  you  that  you  know 
so  many  things  of  which  I  believed 
the  whole  world  ignorant?" 

"  Who  am  I,  madam  ?  the  brother 
of  Helena,  that  is  to  say,  a  man  in 
whom  you  can  place  the  most  entire 
confidence.  Hence  permit  me  to 
proceed." 

The  abbess,  still  suffering  from 
extreme  agitation,  sat  down  again. 

"  Go  on,  caballero,"  she  said. 

"  The  guardian  of  Dona  Anita, 
either  that  he  has  suspicion,  or  for 
some  other  motive,  wrote  to  you 
yesterday,  ordering  you  to  prepare 
her  to  marry  him  within  twenty-four 
hours.  Since  the  receipt  of  this 
fatal  letter,  Dona  Anita  has  been 
plunged  in  the  deepest  despair,  a 
despair  further  heightened  by  the 
sudden  departure  of  my  sister,  the 
only  friend  in  whose  arms  she  can 
safely  reveal  her  heart's  secrets. 
But  you,  madam,  who  are  so  holy 
and  good,  are  aware  that  GOD  can 
at  his  pleasure  confound  the  projects 
of  the  wicked,  and  change  worm 
wood  into  honey.  Did  you  not  re 
ceive  a  visit  yesterday  from  Don 
Serapio  de  la  Honda  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  gentleman  deigned  to 
visit  me  a  few  moments  before  I 
received  the  fatal  letter  to  which  you 
have  referred." 

"Did  not  Don  Serapio,  on  leaving 
you,  say  these  words :  '  Be  kind 
enough  to  inform  Dona  Anita  that 
a  friend  is  watching  over  her ;  that 
this  friend  has  already  given  her 
unequivocal  proofs  of  the  interest 
he  takes  in  her  happiness,  and  that, 
on  the  day  when  she  again  sees  the 
Franciscan  monk,  to  whom  she  con- 


132 


THE    RED    TE  ACK. 


fessed  once  before,  all  her  misfor 
tunes  will  be  ended  ?' ' 

"  Yes,  Don  Serapio  did  utter  those 
words." 

"  Well,  madam,  I  am  sent  to  you, 
not  only  by  him,  but  by  another 
person,  who  is  no  less  than  the 
President  of  the  Republic,  not  only 
to  take  away  my  sister,  but  also  to 
ask  you  to  deliver  up  to  me  Dona 
Anita,  who  will  accompany  her." 

"Heaven  is  my  witness,  senor, 
that  I  would  be  delighted  to  do 
what  you  ask  of  me.  Unhappily, 
it  is  not  in  my  power;  Dona  Anita 
was  entrusted  to  me  by  her  sole  re 
lation,  who  is  at  the  same  time  her 
guardian,  and  though  he  is  unworthy 
of  that  title,  and  my  heart  bleeds  in 
refusing  you,  it  is  to  him  alone  that 
I  am  bound  to  deliver  her." 

"  This  objection,  madam,  the  jus 
tice  of  which  I  fully  appreciate,  has 
been  foreseen  by  the  persons  whose 
representative  I  am.  Hence  they 
consulted  on  the  means  to  remove 
the  scruples  by  entirely  releasing 
you  from  responsibility.  Father, 
give  this  lady  the  paper,  of  which 
you  are  the  bearer." 

Without  uttering  a  word,  Don 
Martial  took  from  his  pocket  the 
blank  signature  Valentine  had  en 
trusted  to  him,  and  handed  it  to  the 
abbess. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  she  asked. 

"Madam,"  the  Frenchman  an 
swered,  "  that  paper  is  a  blank  sig 
nature  of  the  President  of  the  Re 
public,  who  orders  you  to  deliver 
Dona  Anita  into  my  hands." 

"  I  see  it,"  she  said  sorrowfully ; 
"  unfortunately  this  blank  signature, 
which  would  everywhere  else  have 
the  strength  of  the  law,  is  powerless 
here.  We  only  indirectly  depend 
on  the  temporal  power,  but  are  com 
pletely  subjugated  to  the  spiritual 
power,  and  we  can  only  receive 
orders  from  it." 


The  Tigrero  took  a  side  glance 
full  of  despair,  at  his  companion, 
whose  face  was  still  smiling. 

"  What  would  you  require, 
madam,"  he  continued,  "  in  order  to 
consent  to  give  up  this  unhappy 
young  lady  to  me  ?" 

"Alas,  senor,  it  is  not  I  who  re 
fuse  compliance.  Heaven  is  my 
witness  that  it  is  my  greatest  desire 
to  see  her  escape  from  her  perse 
cutor." 

"I  am  thoroughly  convinced  of 
that,  madam ;  that  is  why,  feeling 
persuaded  of  your  good  feeling  to 
wards  your  charge,  I  ask  you  to  tell 
me  .what  authority  you  require  in 
order  to  give  her  up  to  me." 

"  I  cannot,  senor,  allow  Dona 
Anita  to  quit  this  convent  without 
a  perfectly  regular  order,  signed  by 
Monseigneur  the  Archbishop  of 
Mexico,  who  alone  has  the  right  to 
command  here,  and  whom  I  am 
compelled  to  obey." 

"  And  if  I  had  that  order,  madam, 
all  your  scruples  would  be  re 
moved  ?" 

"  Yes,  all,  senor." 

"You  would  have  no  further 
difficulty  in  allowing  Dona  Anita  to 
depart  ?" 

"  I  would  deliver  her  to  you  at 
once,  senor." 

"Since  that  is  the  case,  madam,  I 
will  ask  you  to  do  so,  for  I  have 
brought  you  that  order." 

"  You  have  it  ?"  she  said,  with 
undisguised  delight. 

"Here  it  is,"  he  answered,  as  he 
took  a  paper  from  his  pocket-book 
and  handed  it  to  her. 

She  opened  it  at  once,  and  eagerly 
perused  it. 

"Oh  now,"  she  continued,  "Dona 
Anita  is  free,  and  I  will " 

"One  moment,  madam,"  he  in 
terrupted  her,  "  have  you  carefully 
read  the  order  I  had  the  honor  of 
giving  you  ?" 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


133 


"  Yes,  sir." 

"In  that  case  be  kind  enough 
to  allow  the  young  ladies  to  put  on 
secular  clothing,  and,  as  their  de 
parture  must  be  kept  secret,  allow 
my  carriage  to  enter  the  front  court 
yard.  I  fancied  I  saw  some  ill- 
looking  fellows  prowling  about  the 
neighborhood,  who  looked  to  me 
like  spies." 

"  What  must  I  say,  though,  to 
tlie  young  lady's  guardian?  lam 
going  to  see  him  to-day." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  madam. 
Gain  time ;  tell  him  that  his  ward  is 
ill;  that  you  have  succeeded  in 
gaining  her  consent  to  the  projected 
marriage,  but,  on  the  condition  that 
it  be  deferred  for  eight  and  forty 
hours.  It  is  a  falsehood  I  am  sug 
gesting  to  you,  madam,  but  it  is 
necessary,  and  I  feel  convinced  that 
Heaven  will  pardon  it." 

"Oh,  do  not  be  anxious  about 
that,  senor.  I  will  gladly  take  on 
myself  the  responsibility  of  this 
falsehood ;  Dona  Anita's  guardian 
will  not  dare  to  oppose  so  short  a 
delay,  however  well  inclined  he  may 
be  to  do  so:  but  in  forty-eight 
hours  ?" 

"In  forty-eight  hours,  madam," 
the  Frenchman  answered  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  General  Guerrero  will  not 
come  to  claim  the  hand  of  Dona 
Anita." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ON    THE   ROAD. 

ALL  the  scruples  of  the  Mother 
Superior — honorable  scruples,  let 
us  hasten  to  add — having  thus  been 
removed,  one  after  the  other,  by 
Mr.  Rallier,  by  means  of  the  double 
orders  he  had  been  careful  to  pro 


vide  himself  with,  the  next  thing 
was  to  see  about  getting  the  two 
boarders  away  without  further  delay. 

The  abbess,  who  understood  the 
importance  of  a  speeely  conclusion, 
left  her  visitors  in  the  parlor,  and 
in  order  to  avoid  any  misunder 
standing,  herself  undertook  to  fetch 
the  two  young  ladies,  after  giving  a 
lay-sister  orders  to  call  the  carriage 
into  the  first  courtyard. 

In  a  religious  community,  one  of 
women  before  all — we  do  not  mean 
this  satirically — whatever  may  be 
done,  and  whatever  precautions 
may  be  taken,  nothing  can  long  be 
kept  a  secret.  Hence,  the  two  gen 
tlemen  had  scarcely  entered  the 
speaking-room  of  the  abbess  ere  the 
rumor  of  the  departure  of  Dona 
Anita  and  Dona  Helena  spread 
among  the  nuns  with  extreme 
rapidity.  Who  spread  the  news 
no  one  could  have  told,  and  yet 
everybody  spoke  about  it  as  a  cer 
tainty. 

The  young  ladies  were  naturally 
the.  first  informed.  At  the  outset 
their  anxiety  was  great,  and  Dona 
Anita  trembled,  for  she  believed 
that  she  was  fetched  by  order  of  her 
guardian,  and  that  the  monk  speak 
ing  with  the  abbess  was  the  one 
sent  by  the  general  to  make  imme 
diate  preparations  for  her  marriage. 
Hence,  when  the  abbess  entered 
Dona  Helena's  cell,  she  found  the 
pair  in  each  other's  arms,  and  weep 
ing  bitterly. 

Fortunately,  the  mistake  was  soon 
cleared  up,  and  the  sorrow  converted 
into  joy  when  the  abbess,  who, 
through  sympathy,  wept  as  much 
as  her  boarders,  explained  that  of 
the  two  strangers,  whom  they  feared 
so  greatly,  one  was  the  brother  of 
Dona  Helena,  and  the  other  the 
Franciscan  monk  whom  Dona  Anita 
had  already  seen,  and  that  they  had 
come,  not  to  add  to  her  sufferings, 


134 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


but  to  remove  her  from  the  tyranny 
that  oppressed  her. 

Dona  Helena,  on  hearing  that  her 
brother  was  at  the  convent,  bounded 
with  joy,  and  removed  her  friend's 
last  doubts,  for,  like  all  unhappy 
persons,  Dona  Anita  clung  greedily 
to  this  new  hope  of  salvation, 
which  was  thus  allowed  to  ger 
minate  in  her  heart  at  a  moment 
when  she  believed  that  she  had  no 
chance  left  of  escaping  her  evil 
destiny. 

The  abbess  then  urged  them  to 
complete  their  preparations  for  de 
parture,  helped  them  to  change  their 
dress,  and,  after  embracing  them 
several  times,  conducted  them  to  the 
parlor. 

In  order  to  avoid  any  disturbance 
when  the  young  ladies  left  the  con 
vent,  where  everybody  adored  them, 
the  abbess  had  the  good  idea  of -send 
ing  the  nuns  to  their  cells.  It  was 
a  very  prudent  measure,  which,  by 
preventing  leave-taking,  also  pre 
vented  any  noisy  manifestations  of 
cries  and  tears,  the  sound  of  which 
might  have  been  heard  outside,  and 
have  fallen  on  hostile  ears. 

The  leave-taking  was  short,  for 
there  was  no  time  to  lose  in  vain 
compliments.  The  young  ladies 
drew  down  their  vails,  and  proceeded 
to  the  courtyard  under  the  guidance 
of  the  abbess.  The  carriage  had 
been  drawn  as  close  as  possible  to 
the  cloisters,  and  the  court  was  en 
tirely  deserted — only  the  abbess,  the 
sister  porter,  and  a  confidential  nun 
witnessing  the  departure. 

As  the  Frenchman  opened  the 
door  of  the  carriage,  a  piece  of  paper 
lying  on  the  seat  caught  his  eyes. 
lie  seized  it  without  being  seen,  and 
hid  it  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 
After  kissing  the  good  abbess  for 
the  last  time,  the  young  ladies  took 
the  back  seat,  and  Don  Martial  the 


front,  as  did  Mr.  Rallier,  after  pre 
viously  whispering  to  the  coach 
man — that  is,  to  Curumilla,  two  In 
dian  words,  to  which  he  replied  by 
a  sinister  grin.  Then,  at  a  signal 
from  the  abbess,  the  convent  gates 
were  opened,  and  the  carriage 
started  at  full  speed,  drawn  by  six 
powerful  mules. 

The  crowd  silently  made  room 
for  it  to  pass,  the  gates  closed  again 
immediately,  and  the  carriage  al 
most  immediately  disappeared  round 
the  corner  of  the  next  street. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  The  fugitives — for  we 
can  give  them  no  other  name — gal 
loped  in  silence  for  the  first  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  when  the 'French 
man  gently  touched  his  companion's 
shoulder,  and  offered  him  the  paper 
he  had  found  in  the  carriage. 

"  Eead  !"  he  said. 

The  paper  only  contained  two 
words,  hurriedly  written  in  pencil — 

"Take  care." 

"Oh,  oh!"  the  Tigrero  exclaimed, 
turning  pale,  "what  does  this  mean?" 

"By  Jove,"  the  Frenchman  an 
swered,  cautiously,  "it  means  that, 
in  spite  of  our  precautions,  or  per 
haps  on  account  of  them — for  in 
these  confounded  affairs  a  man  never 
knows  how  to  act  in  order  to  de 
ceive  the  persons  he  fears — we  are 
discovered,  and  probably  have  spies 
at  our  heels." 

"Carai!  and  what  will  become  of 
the  young  ladies  in  the  event  of  a 
dispute?" 

"In  the  event  of  a  fight  you 
mean,  for  there  will  be  an  obstinate 
one,  I  foretell.  Well,  we  will  de 
fend  them  as  well  as  we  can." 

"I  know  that;  but  suppose  we 
are  killed  ?" 

"Ah!  there  is  that  chance;  but  I 
never  think  of  that  till  after  the 
event." 


THE    BED    TRACK 


135 


"Oh,  heaven  !"  Dona  Anita  mur 
mured,  as  she  hid  her  head  in  her 
friend's  bosom. 

"Ke-assure  yourself,  senorita,"  the 
Frenchman  continued,  "and,  above 
all,  be  silent;  for  the  sound  of  your 
voice  might  be  recognized,  and 
change  into  certainty  what  may  still 
be  only  a  suspicion.  Besides,  re 
member  that  if  you  have  enemies, 
you  have  also  friends,  since  they 
took  the  precaution  to  warn  us. 
Now,  in  all  probability,  this  un 
known  offerer  of  advice  will  not 
have  stopped  there,  but  thought  of 
the  means  to  come  to  our  assist 
ance  in  the  most  effectual  manner." 

The  carriage  went  along  in  the 
meanwhile  at  a  break-neck  pace, 
and  had  nearly  reached  the  city 
gates.  We  will  now  tell  what  had 
happened,  and  how  the  Frenchman 
was  warned  of  the  danger  that  threat 
ened  him. 

General  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero 
had  organized  a  band  of  spies  com 
posed  of  leperos  and  scoundrels, 
who,  however,  possessed  acknowl 
edged  cleverness  and  skill,  and  if 
Valentine  had  escaped  their  sur 
veillance  and  foiled  their  machina 
tions,  it  was  solely  through  the 
habits  which  he  had  contracted 
during  a  lengthened  life  in  the 
prairies,  and  which  had  become  an 
intuition  with  him,  so  far  did  he 
carry  the  quality  of  scenting  and 
unmasking  an  enemy,  whatever 
might  be  the  countenance  he  bor 
rowed.  But  if  he  had  not  been 
recognized,  it  was  not  the  same  with 
his  friends,  and  the  latter  had  not 
been  able  long  to  escape  the  lynx 
eyes  of  the  general's  spies. 

The  Convent  of  the  Bernardiues 
had  naturally  become  for  some  days 
past  the  centre  of  the  surveillance, 
as  it  were  the  spying  head-quarters, 
of  Don  Sebastian's  agents.  The  ar 
rival  of  a  carriage  with  closed  blinds 


at  the  convent  at  once  gave  the 
alarm;  and  though  Mr.  Rallier  was 
not  personally  known,  the  fact  of 
his  being  a  Frenchman  was  sufficient 
to  rouse  suspicions. 

While  the  Frenchman  and  the 
monk  were  conversing  in  the  parlor 
with  the  abbess,  a  lepero  pretended 
to  hurt  himself,  and  was  conveyed 
by  two  of  his  acolytes  to  the  convent- 
gate,  and  the  good-hearted  porter 
had  not  refused  him  admission,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  had  eagerly  given 
him  all  the  assistance  his  condition 
seemed  to  require. 

While  the  lepero  was  gradually 
regaining  his  senses,  his  comrades 
asked  questions  with  that  cautious 
skill  peculiar  to  their  Mexican  na 
ture.  The  sister-porter  was  a  worthy 
woman,  endowed  with  a  very  small 
stock  of  brains,  and  fond  of  talking. 
On  finding  this  opportunity  to  in 
dulge  in  her  favorite  employment, 
she  was  easily  led  on,  and,  almost 
of  her  own  accord,  told  all  she  knew, 
not  suspecting  the  harm  she  did. 
Let  us  hasten  to  add  that  this  all 
was  very  little;  but,  being  under 
stood  and  commented  on  by  intelli 
gent  men  interested  in  discovering 
the  truth,  it  was  extremely  serious. 

When  the  three  leperos  had  drawn 
all  they  could  out  of  the  sister- 
porter,  they  hastened  to  leave  the 
convent.  Just  as  they  emerged  into 
the  street,  they  found  themselves 
face  to  face  with  No  Carnero,  the 
general's  capataz,  whom  his  master 
had  sent  on  a  tour  of  discovery. 
They  ran  up  to  him,  and  in  a  few 
words  told  him  what  had  happened. 

This  was  grave,  and  the  capataz 
trembled  inwardly  at  the  revelation, 
for  he  understood  the  terrible  danger 
by  which  his  friends  were  menaced. 
But  Carnero  was  a  clever  man,  and 
at  ouce  made  up  his  mind  to  his 
course  of  action. 

He  greatly  praised  the  leperos  for 


136 


THE    EED    TRACK. 


the  skill  they  had  displayed  in  dis 
covering  the  secret,  put  some  piastres 
into  their  hands,  and  sent  them  off 
to  the  general,  with  the  recommenda 
tion,  which  was  most  unnecessary, 
to  make  all  possible  speed.  Then, 
in  his  turn,  he  began  prowling  round 
the  convent,  and  especially  the  car 
riage,  which  Curumilla  made  no 
difficulty  in  letting  him  approach, 
for  the  reader  will  doubtless  have 
guessed  that  the  animosity  the  In 
dian  had  on  several  occasions 
evinced  for  the  capataz  was  pre 
tended,  and  that  they  were  perfectly 
good  friends  when  nobody  could 
see  or  hear  them. 

The  capataz  skilfully  profited  by 
the  confusion  created  in  the  crowd 
by  the  carriage  entering  the  convent, 
to  throw  in,  unperceived,  the  paper 
Mr.  Eallier  had  found.  Certain  now 
that  his  friends  would  be  on  their 
guard,  he  went  off  in  his  turn,  after 
recommending  the  spies  he  left  be 
fore  the  convent  to  keep  up  a  good 
watch,  and  walked  in  the  direction 
of  the  Plaza  Mayor  smoking  a  cig 
arette. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Calle  de 
Plateros  he  saw  a  man  standing  in 
front  of  a  pulqueria,  engaged  in 
smoking  an  enormous  cigar.  The 
capataz  entered  the  pulqueria,  drank 
a  glass  of  Catalonian  refino,  but 
while  paying,  he  clumsily  let  fall  a 
piastre  which  rolled  to  the  foot  of 
the  man  standing  in  the  doorway. 
The  latter  stooped,  picked  up  the 
coin,  and  restored  it  to  its  owner,  and 
the  capataz  walked  out,  doubtless 
satisfied  with  the  quality  of  the  spirit 
he  had  imbibed,  and  cautiously  con 
tinued  his  way.  On  reaching  the 
plaza  again,  the  man  of  the  pulque 
ria,  who  was  probably  going  the 
same  road  as  himself,  was  at  his 
heels. 

"Belhuraeur?"  the  capataz  asked, 


in  a  low  voice,  without  turning 
round. 

"Eh?"  the, other  answered  in  the 
same  key. 

"  The  general  knows  the  affair  at 
the  convent ;  if  you  do  not  make 
haste,  Don  Martial,  Don  Antonio, 
and  the  two  ladies  will  be  attacked 
on  the  road  while  going  to  the  quin- 
ta ;  warn  your  friend,  for  there  is 
not  a  moment  to  lose.  Devil  take 
the  cigarette  !"  he  added,  throwing  it 
away  ;  "  it  has  gone  out." 

When  he  turned  back,  Belhu- 
meur  had  disappeared ;  the  Canadian 
with  his  characteristic  agility  was 
already  running  in  the  direction  of 
Valentine's  house.  As  for  the  capa 
taz,  as  he  was  in  no  particular  hurry, 
he  quietly  walked  back  to  the  gen 
eral's,  where  he  found  his  master  in 
a  furious  passion  with  all  his  people, 
and  more  particularly  with  himself. 

By  an  accident,  too  portentous  not 
to  have  been  arranged  beforehand, 
not  one  of  his  horses  could  be 
mounted ;  three  were  foundered, 
four  others  had  been  bled,  and  the 
last  three  were  without  shoes.  In 
the  midst  of  this  the  capataz  arrived 
with  a  look  of  alarm,  which  only 
heightened  his  master's  passion. 
Carnero  prudently  allowed  the  gen 
eral's  fury  to  grow  a  little  calm,  and 
then  answered  him. 

He  proved  to  him  in  the  first 
place  that  he  would  commit  a  serious 
act  of  imprudence  by  himself  start 
ing  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives  in  the 
present  state  of  affairs,  and  especially 
on  the  eve  of  a  pronunciamiento 
which  was  about  to  decide  his  for 
tunes.  Then  he  remarked  to  him 
that  six  peons,  commanded  by  a 
resolute  man,  would  be  sufficient  to 
conquer  two  men  probably  badly 
armed,  and,  in  addition,  shut  up  in 
a  carriage  with  two  ladies,  whom 
they  would  not  expose  to  the  risk  of 


THE     BED    TRACK. 


137 


being  killed.  These  reasons  being 
good,  the  general  listened  and  yielded 
to  them. 

"Very  good,"  he  said  ;  "  Carnero, 
you  are  one  of  my  oldest  servants, 
and  to  you  I  entrust  the  duty  of 
bringing  back  my  niece." 

The  capataz  made  a  wry  face. 

"  There  will  be  probably  plenty 
of  blows  to  receive,  and  very  little 
profit  to  derive  from  such  an  expe 
dition." 

"  I  believed  that  you  were  devoted 
to  me,"  the  general  remarked  bit 
terly. 

"Your  excellency  is  not  mis 
taken  ;  I  am  truly  devoted  to  you, 
but  I  have  also  a  fondness  for  my 
skin." 

"  I  will  give  you  twenty -five 
ounces  for  every  slit  it  receives  ;  is 
that  enough  ?" 

"  Come,  I  see  that  your  excellency 
wishes  me  to  be  cut  into  mince 
meat  !"  the  capataz  exclaimed  joy 
ously. 

"  Then  that  is  agreed  ?" 

" I  should  think  so,  excellency; 
at  that  price  a  man  would  be  a  fool 
to  refuse." 

"But  about  horses?" 

"  We  have  at  least  ten  or  a  dozen 
in  the  corral." 

"  That  is  true ;  I  did  not  think  of 
that,"  the  general  exclaimed,  striking 
his  forehead;  "have  seven  lassoed 
at  once." 

"Where  must  I  take  the  seno- 
rita?" 

"Bring  her  to  this  house,  for  she 
shall  not  set  foot  in  the  convent 
again." 

"  Very  good ;  when  shall  I  start, 
general'/" 

"At  once,  if  it  be  possible." 

"In  twenty  minutes  I  shall  have 
left  the  house." 

But  the  general's  impatience  was 
so  great  that  he  accompanied  his 
capataz  to  the  corral,  watched  all  the 


preparations  for  the  departure,  and 
did  not  return  to  his  apartments  till 
he  was  certain  that  Carnero  had 
started  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives, 
with  the  peons  he  had  selected. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  carriage 
dashed  along  ;  it  passed  at  full  gal 
lop  through  the  San  Lazaro  gate, 
then  turned  suddenly  to  the  right, 
and  entered  a  somewhat  narrow 
street.  At  about  the  middle  of  this 
street  it  stopped  before  a  house  of 
rather  modest  appearance,  the  gate 
of  which  at  once  opened,  and  a  man 
came  out  holding  the  bridles  of  two 
prairie  mustangs  completely  har 
nessed,  and  with  a  rifle  at  each 
saddle-bow.  The  Frenchman  got 
out,  and  invited  his  companion  to 
follow  his  example. 

"Resume  your  usual  dress,"  he 
said,  as  he  lead  him  inside  the 
house. 

The  Tigrero  obeyed  with  an  eager 
start  of  joy.  While  he  doffed  his 
gown,  his  companion  mounted,  after 
saying  to  the  young  ladies — 

"Whatever  happens,  not  a  word 
— not  a  cry  ;  keep  the  shutters  up ; 
we  will  gallop  at  the  door,  and  re 
member  your  lives  are  in  peril." 

Martial  at  this  moment  carne  out 
of  the  house  attired  as  a  caballero. 

"  To  horse,  and  let  us  be  off,"  said 
Mr.  Eallier. 

The  Tigrero  bounded  on  to  the 
mustang  held  in  readiness  for  him, 
and  the  carriage,  in  which  the  mules 
had  been  changed,  started  again  at 
full  speed.  The  house  at  which 
they  had  stopped  was  the  one  hired 
by  Valentine  to  keep  his  stud  at. 

Half  an  hour  thus  passed,  and  the 
carriage  disappeared  in  the  thick 
cloud  of  dust  it  raised  as  it  dashed 
along.  Don  Martial  felt  new  born ; 
the  excitement  had  restored  his  old 
ardor  as  if  by  enchantment ;  he 
longed  to  be  face  to  face  with  his 
foe,  and  at  length  come  to  a  settle- 


138 


THE    KED    TRACK. 


ment  with  him.  The  Frenchman 
was  calmer ;  though  brave  to  rash 
ness,  it  was  with  secret  anxiety  he 
foresaw  the  probability  of  a  fight,  in 
which  his  sister  might  be  wounded ; 
still  he  was  resolved,  in  the  event  of 
the  worst,  to  confront  the  clanger,  no 
matter  the  number  of  men  who  ven 
tured  to  attack  them. 

All  at  once  the  Indian  uttered  a 
cry.  The  two  men  looked  back, 
and  saw  a  body  of  men  coming  up 
at  full  speed.  At  this  moment  the 
carriage  "was  following  a  road 
bounded  on  one  side  by  a  rather 
thick  chapparal,  on  the  other  by  a 
deep  ravine. 

At  a  sign  from  the  Frenchman 
the  carriage  was  drawn  across  the 
road,  and  the  ladies  got  out  and 
went,  under  Curumilla's  protection, 
to  seek  shelter  behind  the  trees. 
The  two  men,  with  their  rifles  to 
their  shoulders  and  fingers  on  the 
triggers,  stood  firmly  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  awaiting  the  onset  of 
their  adversaries,  for,  in  all  prob 
ability,  the  new-comers  were  enemies. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

A   SKIRMISH. 

CURUMILLA,  after  concealing,  with 
that  Indian  skill  he  so  thoroughly 
possessed,  the  young  ladies  at  a  spot 
where  they  were  thoroughly  pro 
tected  from  bullets,  had  placed  him 
self,  rifle  in  hand,  not  by  the  side  of 
the  two  riders,  but,  with  charac 
teristic  red-skin  prudence,  he  am 
buscaded  himself  behind  the  car 
riage,  probably  reflecting  that  he 
represented  the  entire  infantry  force, 
and  not  caring,  through  a  point  of 
honor,  very  absurd  in  his  opinion, 


to  expose  himself  to  a  death  not 
only  certain,  but  useless  to  those  he 
wished  to  defend. 

The  horsemen,  however,  on  com 
ing  within  range  of  the  persons  they 
were  pursuing,  stopped,  and,  by  their 
gestures,  seemed  to  evince  a  hesita 
tion  the  fugitives  did  not  at  all  un 
derstand,  after  the  fashion  in  which 
they  had  hitherto  been  pursued. 
The  motive  for  this  hesitation,  which 
the  Frenchman  and  his  companions 
could  not  know,  and  which  per 
plexed  them  so  greatly,  was  very 
simple. 

Carnero,  for  it  was  the  general's 
capataz  who  was  pursuing  the  car 
riage,  with  his  peons,  all  at  once 
perceived,  with  a  secret  pleasure,  it 
is  true,  though  he  was  careful  not  to 
let  his  companions  notice  it,  that 
while  they  were  pursuing  the  car 
riage,  other  horsemen  were  pursuing 
them,  and  coming  up  at  headlong 
speed.  On  seeing  this,  as  we  said, 
the  party  halted,  much  disappointed 
and  greatly  embarrassed  as  to  what 
they  had  better  do. 

They  were  literally  placed  be 
tween  two  fires,  and  were  the  at 
tacked  instead  of  the  assailants ;  the 
situation  was  critical,  and  deserved 
serious  consideration.  Carnero  sug 
gested  a  retreat,  remarking,  with  a 
certain  amount  of  reason,  that  the 
sides  were  no  longer  equal,  and  that 
success  was  highly  problematical. 
The  peons,  all  utter  ruffians,  and 
expressly  chosen  by  the  general,  but 
who  entertained  a  profound  respect 
for  the  integrity  of  their  limbs,  and 
were  but  very  slightly  inclined  to 
have  them  inj  ured  in  so  disadvantage 
ous  a  contest  with  people  who  would 
not  recoil,  were  disposed  to  follow 
the  advice  of  the  capataz  and  retire, 
before  a  retreat  became  impossible. 

Unhappily,  the  Zaragate  was 
among  the  peons.  Believing,  from 
his  conversation  with  the  colonel 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


139 


that  he  knew  better  than  any  one 
the  general's  intentions,  and  at 
tracted  by  the  hope  of  a  rich  reward 
if  he  succeeded  in  delivering  him  of 
his  enemy,  that  is  to  say,  in  killing 
Valentine ;  and,  moreover,  probably 
impelled  by  the  personal  hatred  he 
entertained  for  the  hunter,  he  would 
not  listen  to  any  observation,  and 
swore  with  horrible  oaths  that  he 
would  carry  out  the  general's  orders 
at  all  hazards,  and  that,  since  the 
persons  they  were  ordered  to  stop 
were  only  a  few  paces  before  them, 
they  ought  not  to  retire  until  they 
had,  at  least,  attempted  to  perform 
their  duty ;  that  if  his  comrades 
were  such  cowards  as  to  desert  him, 
he  would  go  on  alone  at  his  own 
risk,  certain  that  the  general  would 
be  satisfied  with  the  way  in  which 
he  behaved. 

After  a  declaration  so  distinct  and 
peremptory,  any  hesitation  became 
impossible,  the  more  so  as  the  horse 
men  were  rapidly  coming  up,  and  if 
the  capataz  hesitated  much  longer 
he  would  be  'attacked  in  the  rear. 
Thus  driven  out  of  his  last  in- 
trenchment,  and  compelled  against 
his  will  to  fight,  Carnero  gave  the 
signal  to  push  on  ahead. 

But  the  peons  had  scarce  started, 
ere  three  shots  were  fired,  and  three 
men  rolled  in  the  dust.  The  new 
comers,  in  this  way,  warned  their 
friends  to  hold  their  ground,  and 
that  they  were  bringing  help.  The 
dismounted  peons  were  not  wounded, 
though  greatly  shaken  by  their  fall, 
and  unable  to  take  part  in  the  fight  ;- 
their  horses  alone  were  hit,  and 
that  so  cleverly,  that  they  at  once 
fell. 

"  Eh,  eh  1"  the  capataz  said,  as  he 
galloped  on  ;  "  these  picaros  have 
a  very  sure  hand.  What  do  you 
think  of  it  ?" 

"  I  say  that  there  are  still  four  of 
us;  that  is  double  the  number  of 


those  waiting  for  us  down  there, 
and  we  are  sufficient  to  master 
them." 

"Don't  be  to  sure,  my  good 
friend,  Zaragate,"  the  capataz  said 
with  a  grin ;  "  they  are  men  made 
of  iron,  who  must  be  killed  twice 
over  before  they  fall." 

The  Tigrero  and  his  companions 
had  heard  shots  and  seen  the  peons 
bite  the  dust. 

"  There  is  Valentine,"  said  the 
Frenchman. 

"I  believe  so,"  Don  Martial  re 
plied. 

"  Shall  we  charge  ?" 

"  Yes." 

And  digging  in  their  spurs,  they 
dashed  at  the  peons. 

Valentine  and  his  two  comrades, 
Belhumeur  and  Black  Elk  (for  the 
Frenchman  was  not  mistaken,  it 
was  really  the  hunter  coming  up, 
whom  the  Canadian  had  warned) 
fell  on  the  peons  simultaneously 
with  Don  Martial  and  his  com 
panion. 

A  terrible,  silent,  and  obstinate 
struggle  went  on  for  some  minutes 
between  these  nine  men;  the  foes 
had  seized  each  other  round  the 
body,  as  they  were  too  close  to  use 
firearms,  and  tried  to  stab  each 
other.  Nothing  was  heard  but  angry 
curses  and  panting,  but  not  a  word 
or  cry,  for  what  is  the  use  of  insult 
ing  when  you  can  kill  ? 

The  Zaragate,  so  soon  as  he  recog 
nized  the  hunter,  dashed  at  him. 
Valentine,  although  taken  off  his 
guard,  offered  a  vigorous  resistance ; 
the  two  men  were  entwined  like 
serpents,  and,  in  their  efforts  to  dis 
mount  each  other,  at  last  both  fell, 
and  rolled  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
combatants  who,  without  thinking 
of  them,  or  perceiving  their  fall, 
continued  to  attack  each  other 
furiously. 

The    hunter  was   endowed  with 


140 


THE     BED     'I1  RACK. 


great  muscular  strength  and  un 
equalled  science  and  agility;  but  on 
this  occasion  he  had  found  an  ad 
versary  worthy  of  him.  The  Zara- 
gate,  some  years  younger  than 
Valentine,  and  possessed  of  his  full 
bodily  strength,  while  urged  on  by 
the  love  of  rich  reward,  made  super 
human  efforts  to  master  his  oppo 
nent  and  plunge  his  navaja  into  his 
throat.  Several  times  had  each  of 
them  succeeded  in  getting  the  other 
underneath,  but,  as  so  frequently 
happens  in  wrestling,  a  sudden 
movement  of  the  shoulders  or  loins 
had  changed  the  position  of  the 
adversaries  and  brought  the  one 
beneath  who  a  moment  previously 
had  been  on  the  top. 

Still  Valentine  felt  that  his  strength 
was  becoming  exhausted ;  the  un 
expected  resistance  he  met  with 
from  an  enemy  apparently  so  little 
worthy  of  him,  exasperated  him 
and  made  him  lose  his  coolness. 
Collecting  all  his  remaining  vigor 
to  attempt  a  final  and  decisive  effort, 
he  succeeded  in  getting  his  enemy 
once  again  under  him,  and  pinned 
him  down  ;  but  at  the  same  moment 
Valentine  uttered  a  cry  of  pain 
and  rolled  on  the  ground — a  horse's 
kick  had  broken  his  left  arm. 

The  Zaragate  sprang  up  with  a 
tiger's  bound,  and  bursting  into  a 
yell  of  delight,  placed  his  knee  on 
his  enemy's  chest,  at  the  same 
time  as  he  prepared  to  bury  his 
navaja  in  his  heart.  Valentine  felt 
that  he  was  lost,  and  did  not  attempt 
to  avoid  the  death  that  threatened 
him. 

"Poor  Louis,"  he  merely  said, 
looking  firmly  and  intrepidly  at  the 
bandit. 

"Ah,  ah!"  the  Zaragate  said, 
with  a  ferocious  grin,  "  I  hold  my 
vengeance  at  length,  accursed  Trail- 
hunter." 

He  did  not  complete  the  sentence; 


suddenly  seized  by  his  long  hair, 
while  a  knee,  thrust  between  his 
shoulders,  forced  him  to  bend  back, 
he  saw,  as  in  a  horrible  dream,  a 
ferocious  face  grinning  above  his 
head.  With  a  fearful  groan  he 
rolled  on  the  ground ;  a  knife  had 
been  buried  in  his  heart,  while  his 
scalp,  which  was  suddenly  removed, 
left  his  denuded  skull  to  inundate 
with  blood  the  ground  around. 

Curu mills  raised  in  his  arms  the 
body  of  his  friend,  whose  life  he 
had  just-  saved  once  again,  and 
bore  it  to  the  side  of  the  road. 
Valentine  had  fainted. 

The  chief,  so  soon  as  he  saw  his 
friends  charge  the  peons,  left  his 
ambush,  and  while  careful  to  remain 
behind  them,  followed  them  to  the 
battle-field.  He  had  watched  eagerly 
the  long  struggle  between  the  hun 
ter  and  the  Zaragate ,  trying  vainly 
to  assist  his  friend,  but  never  able 
to  succeed.  The  two  enemies  were 
so  entwined,  their  movements  were 
so  rapid,  and  they  changed  their 
position  so  suddenly,  that  the  chief 
was  afraid  lest  he  might  wound  his 
friend  in  attempting  to  help  him. 
Hence  he  awaited  with  extreme 
anxiety  an  opportunity  so  long 
delayed,  and  which  the  Zaragate 
himself  offered  by  losing  his  time 
in  insulting  his  enemy  instead  of 
killing  him  at  once,  when  the 
injury  he  received  left  him  defence 
less  in  the  bandit's  power. 

The  Araucano  bounded  like  a 
wild  beast  on  the  Mexican,  and 
without  hesitation  scalped  and 
stabbed  him  with  the  agility  char 
acteristic  of  the  red-skins,  and  winch 
he  himself  possessed  in  so  high  a 
degree. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  the 
horsemen  also  finished  their  fight. 
The  peons  had  offered  a  vigorous 
resistance,  but  being  badly  sup 
ported  by  the  capataz,  who  was  dis 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


abled  at  the  beginning  of  the 
skirmish  by  Don  Martial,  and  seeing 
the  Zaragate  dead  and  three  of  their 
friends  dismounted  and  incapable 
of  coming  to  their  assistance,  they 
gave  in. 

The  capataz  had  been  wounded 
at  liis  own  request  by  Don  Martial, 
iu  order  to  save  appearances  with 
the  general ;  he  had  a  wide  gash  on 
his  right  arm,  very  severe  at  the 
first  glance,  but  insignificant  in 
reality.  A  peon  had  been  almost 
smashed  by  Belhumeur,  so  that  the 
field  of  battle  fairly  remained  in 
the  hands  of -the  hunters. 

When  their  victory  was  insured 
they  assembled  anxiously  round 
Valentine,  for  they  were  alarmed  at 
his  condition,  and  most  anxious  to 
be  reassured.  Valentine,  whose  arm 
Curumilla  had  at  once  set,  with  the 
skill  and  coolness  of  an  old  practi 
tioner,  soon  reopened  his  eyes,  re 
assured  his  friends  by  a  smile,  and 
offered  the  Indian  chief  his  right 
hand,  which  the  latter  laid  on  his 
heart  with  an  expression  of  inde 
scribable  happiness,  as  he  uttered 
his  favorite  exclamation  of  Ugh  !  the 
only  word  he  permitted  himself  to 
use  in  joy  or  in  sorrow,  when  he 
felt  himself  choking  with  internal 
emotion. 

"  Senores,"  the  hunter  said,  "  it  is 
only  an  arm  broken ;  thanks  to  the 
chief,  I  have  had  an  easy  escape. 
Let  us  resume  bur  journey  before 
other  enemies  come  up." 

"And  we,  senor?"  the  capataz 
cried,  humbly. 

Valentine  rose  with  the  chief's 
assistance,  and  took  a  furious  glance 
at  the  peons.  "As  for  you,  miser 
able  assassins,"  he  said,  with  a  ter 
rible  accent,  "  return  to  your  master 
and  tell  him  in  what  way  you  were 
received.  But  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
have  chastised  your  perfidy:  I  must 
have  revenge  for  the  odious  snare 


into  which  my  friends  and  I  all  but 
fell.  I  will  learn  whether,  in  open 
day,  and  some  half  a  dozen  miles 
from  Mexico,  bandits  can  thus  at 
tack  peaceable  travellers  with  im 
punity.  Begone!" 

Valentine  was  slightly  mistaken, 
for,  although  it  was  really  the  inten 
tion  of  the  peons  to  attack  them,  the 
hunters  had  actually  begun  the  fight 
by  dismounting  the  three  peons. 
But  the  fellows,  convicted  by  their 
conscience,  did  not  notice  this  deli 
cate  distinction,  and  were  very  happy 
to  get  off  so  cheaply,  and  be  enabled 
to  return  peaceably,  when  they 
feared  that  their  conquerors  would 
hand  them  over  to  the  police  as  they 
had  a  perfect  right  to  do. 

Thus,  far  from  raising  any  objec 
tions,  they  broke  forth  into  apolo 
gies  and  protestations  of  devotion, 
and  hastened  off,  not  troubling  them 
selves  to  pick  up  the  body  of  their 
defunct  comrade,  le  Zaragate,  which 
they  left  to  the  vultures  which 
settled  on  it,  so  soon  as  the  highway 
was  clear  again. 

The  capataz,  under  the  pretext 
that  his  wound  was  very  painful, 
but  in  reality  to  give  Valentine  and 
his  friends  the  requisite  time  to  se 
cure  themselves  temporarily  from 
pursuit,  insisted  on  returning  to  the 
city  slowly,  so  that  they  did  not 
reach  the  general's  mansion  till  two 
hours  had  elapsed. 

So  soon  as  the  peons  in  obedience 
to  the  hunter's  orders  had  left  the 
battle-field,  he,  on  his  part,  gave  his 
companions  the  signal  to  start.  Don 
Martial  had  hurried  to  reassure  the 
ladies,  who  were  standing  more  dead 
than  alive  at  the  spot  where  the 
chief  had  concealed  them.  He  made 
them  get  into  the  carriage  again, 
without  telling  them  any  thing  ex 
cept  that  the  danger  was  past,  and 
that  the  rest  of»the  journey  would 
be  performed  in  safety. 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


Valentine's  friends  tried  in  vain 
to  induce  him  to  get  into  the  car 
riage  with  the  ladies.  He  would 
not  consent,  but  insisted  on  mount 
ing  his  horse,  assuring  them,  in  the 
far  from  probable  event  of  their  being 
attacked  again,  that  he  could  still  be 
of  some  service  to  his  companions 
in  spite  of  his  broken  arm.  The 
latter  were  too  well  acquainted  with 
his  inflexible  will  to  press  him 
farther:  so  Curumilla  remounted  the 
coach-box,  and  they  started. 

The  rest  of  the  journey  was  per 
formed  without  any  incident,  and 
they  reached  the  quinta  twenty 
minutes  later.  The  skirmish  had 
taken  place  scarce  two  miles  from 
the  country  house.  On  reaching 
the  gates,  Valentine  took  leave  of 
his  friend  without  dismounting. 

"What!"  the  latter  said  to  him, 
";are  you  going,  Valentine,  without 
resting  for  a  moment  ?" 

"  I  must,  my  dear  Rallier,"  he  an 
swered;  "you  know  what  imperious 
reasons  claim  rny  presence  in 
Mexico." 

"But  you  are  wounded." 

"Have  I  not  Curumilla  to  attend 
to  my  hurt?  Do  not  be  anxious 
about  me;  besides,  I  intend  to  see 
you  again  soon.  This  quinta  ap 
pears  to  me  strong  enough  to  resist 
a  surprise.  Have  you  a  garrison?" 

"I  have  a  dozen  servants  and  my 
two  brothers." 

"In  that  case  I  am  easy  in  my  mind ; 
besides,  there  is  only  one  night  to 
pass,  and  I  believe  that  after  the 
lesson  his  people  have  received  the 
general  will  not  venture  on  a  second 
attack,  for  some  days  at  least.  Be 
sides,  he  reckons  on  the  success  of 
his  pronunciamiento.  You  will  come 
to  me  to-morrow  at  daybreak,  will 
you  not?" 

"I  shall  not  fail." 

"In  that  case  I  vrtll  be  off." 


"  Will  you  not  say  good -by  to  the 
ladies?"  ' 

"They  are  not  aware  of  my  pres 
ence,  and  it  will  be  better  for  them 
not  to  see  me;  so  good-by  till  to 
morrow." 

And  making  a  signal  to  his  com 
rades  who,  including  Curumilla,  to 
whom  a  horse  was  given,  collected 
around  him,  Valentine  started  at  a 
gallop  for  Mexico,  caring  no  more 
for  his  broken  arm  than  if  it  were  a 
mere  scratch. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

LOS   REGOCIJOS. 

ON  his  return  to  the  mansion,  the 
capataz  did  not  see  his  master,  at 
which  he  was  extremely  pleased,  for 
he  desired  to  delay  as  long  as  pos 
sible  an  explanation  which,  in  spite 
of  the  wound  he  so  complacently 
displayed,  he  feared  would  turn  out 
to  his  disadvantage,  especially  when 
questioned  by  a  man  like  the  gen 
eral,  whose  piercing  glance  would 
descend  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart 
to  discover  the  truth,  however  clev 
erly  hidden  it  might  be  behind  a 
network  of  falsehood. 

As  only  a  few  hours  had  still  to 
elapse  before  the  explosion  of  the 
conspiracy,  arranged  with  such  care 
and  mystery,  the  general  was  com 
pelled  for  a  while  to  suspend  his 
schemes  for  the  satisfaction  of  his 
love  and  his  hatred,  and  only  attend 
to  those  in  which  his  ambition  was 
engaged.  The  principal  conspirators 
had  been  summoned  to  Colonel 
Lupo's,  and  there  the  final  arrange 
ments  had  been  made  for  the  morrow, 
and  the  watchword  given. 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


143 


Although  the  government  ap 
peared  plunged  in  the  most  profound 
ignorance  of  what  was  preparing 
against  it,  and  evinced  complete 
security,  still  the  President  had 
made  certain  arrangements  for  the 
morrow's  ceremonies  which  did  not 
fail  greatly  to  trouble  the  rnen  in 
terested  in  knowing  every  thing,  and 
to  whom  the  apparently  most  futile 
thing  naturally  created  umbrage. 

The  general,  with  the  curiosity 
that  distinguished  him,  was  anxious 
to  know  exactly  the  extent  of  the 
danger  he  had  to  meet,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  the  palace,  merely  accom 
panied  by  his  two  aides-de-camp. 
The  general  president  received  Don 
Sebastian  with  a  smile  on  his  lips, 
and  offered  him  the  most  gracious 
reception.  This  reception,  so  cordial, 
perhaps  too  cordial,  instead  of  re 
assuring  the  general,  had,  on  the 
contrary,  increased  his  anxiety,  for 
he  was  a  Mexican  and  knew  the 
proverb  of  his  country — "  Lips  that 
smile,  and  mouths  that  tell  false 
hoods." 

The  general  was  too  calm  to  let 
his  feelings  be  seen.  lie  pretended 
to  be  delighted,  remained  for  some 
time  with  the  President,  who  ap 
peared  to  treat  him  with  a  friendly 
familiarity,  complained  of  the  rarity 
of  his  visits,  and  his  obstinacy  in  not 
asking  for  a  command.  In  a  word, 
the  two  men  separated  apparently 
highly  satisfied  with  each  other. 

Still,  the  general  remarked  that 
all  the  courts  were  stuffed  with  sol 
diers,  who  were  bivouacking  in  the 
open  air ;  that  several  guns  had 
been  placed,  accidentally  perhaps,  so 
as  to  sweep  completely  the  chief  en 
trance  gate,  and,  more  serious  still, 
that  the  troops  quartered  in  the 
palace  were  commanded  by  officers 
strangers  to  him,  and  who  had,  more 
over,  the  reputation  of  being  devoted 
to  the  President  of  the  Republic. 


After  this  daring  visit,  the  general 
mounted  his  horse,  and,  under  the 
pretext  of  going  for  a  walk,  went 
all  over  the  city.  Everywhere  the 
preparations  for  the  coming  festival 
were  being  carried  on  with  the 
greatest  activity.  In  the  square  of 
Necatitlan,  for  instance,  situated  in 
one  of  the  worst  parts  of  the  capital, 
a  circus  had  been  made  for  the  bull 
fights  at  which  the  president  intended 
to  be  present. 

Numerous  wooden  erections, 
raised  for  the  occasion,  filled  the 
space  usually  devoted  to  tauroma 
chy,  and  formed  an  immense  hall  of 
verdure,  with  pleasant  clumps  of 
trees,  mysterious  walks,  and  charm 
ing  retreats,  prepared  with  the 
greatest  care,  where  everybody 
would  go  on  the  morrow  to  eat  and 
drink  the  atrocious  productions  of 
the  Mexican  art  of  cookery,  and  en 
joy  what  is  called  in  that  country 
Jamaica. 

Exactly  in  the  centre  of  the  arena 
a  tree  about  twenty  feet  in  height 
was  planted,  with  its  branches  and 
leaves  entirely  covered  with  colored 
pocket-handkerchiefs  that  floated  in 
the  breeze.  This  tree  was  the  Monte 
Parnasso,  intended  to  serve  as  a 
may-pole  for  the  leperos,  at  the  mo 
ment  when  the  bull  fights  begin,  and 
a  trial -bull,  emlallado,  that  is  to  say, 
with  its  horns  terminating  in  balls, 
is  let  into  the  ring. 

All  the  pulquerias  near  the  square 
were  thronged  with  a  hideous,  rag 
ged  mob,  who  howled,  sang,  shouted, 
and  whistled  their  loudest,  while 
smoking,  and,  at  intervals,  exchang 
ing  knife-thrusts,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  spectators. 

In  all  the  streets  the  procession 
would  pass  through  the  houses  were 
decorated  ;  Mexican  flags  were 
hoisted  in  profusion  at  every  spot 
where  they  could  be  displayed  ,  and 
yet,  by  the  side  of  all  these  holiday 


144 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


preparations,  there  was,  we  repeat, 
something  gloomy  and  menacing 
that  struck  a  chill  to  the  heart. 
Through  all  the  gates  fresh  troops 
continually  entered  the  city,  and 
occupied  admirably-chosen  strategic 
points.  The  Alameda,  the  Paseo  di 
Bucarelli,  and  even  the  Vega,  were 
converted  into  bivouacs ;  and  though 
these  troops  ostensibly  only  came 
to  Mexico  to  be  present  at  the  cere 
mony  and  be  reviewed,  they  were 
equipped  for  the  field,  and  affected 
an  earnestness  which  caused  much 
thought  to  those  who  saw  them  pass 
or  visited  their  bivouacs. 

When  a  serious  event  is  prepar 
ing,  there  are  in  the  atmosphere 
certain  signs  which  never  deceive 
the  fosterers  of  revolutions  ;  a  vague 
and  apparently  causeless  anxiety 
seizes  on  the  masses,  and  uncon 
sciously  converts  their  joy  into  a 
species  of  feverish  excitement,  at 
which  they  are  themselves  startled, 
as  they  know  not  to  what  to  attrib 
ute  this  change  in  their  humor. 

Hence  the  population  of  Mexico, 
mad,  merry,  and  joyous,  as  usual 
wtien  a  festival  is  preparing,  in  the 
eyes  of  short-sighted  persons,  were 
in  reality  sternly  sad  and  suffering 
from  great  anxfety.  The  general 
did  not  fail  to  observe  these  prognos 
tics  ;  gloomy  presentiments  occupied 
h-is  mind,  for  he  understood  that  a 
terrible  tempest  was  hidden  beneath 
this  fictitious  calmness.  Valentine's 
gloomy  predictions  recurred  to  him. 
He  trembled  to  see  the  hunter's 
menaces  realized  ;  and,  though  un 
able  to  discover  when  the  danger 
would  come,  he  foresaw  that  a  great 
peril  was  hanging  over  his  head,  and 
that  his  ambitious  projects  would 
soon,  perhaps,  be  drowned  in  floods 
of  blood. 

Unfortunately  it  was  too  late  to 
desist ;  he  must,  whatever  might 
happen,  go  on  to  the  end,  for  he  had 


not  the  time  to  give  counter-orders, 
and  urge  the  conspirators  to  defer 
the  explosion  of  the  plot  till  a  more 
favorable  moment.  Hence,  after  ripe 
reflection,  the  general  resolved  to 
push  on  and  trust  to  accident.  Am 
bitious  men,  by  the  way,  reckon,  far 
more  than  is  supposed,  on  hazard, 
and  those  magnificent  combinations 
which  are  admired  when  success  has 
crowned  them,  are  most  frequently 
merely  the  unforeseen  results  of 
fortuitous  circumstances,  completely 
beyond  the  will  of  the  man  whom 
they  have  profited.  History,  modern 
history  especially,  is  full  of  these 
combinations,  these  results  impossi 
ble  to  foresee,  which  sensible  men 
would  not  have  dared  to  suppose, 
and  which  have  made  the  reputation 
of  so-called  statesmen  of  genius,  who 
are  very  small  fry,  when  regarded 
through  the  magnifying-glass,  or 
when  actions  are  sifted. 

The  general  returned  to  his  house 
at  about  six  in  the  evening,  despair 
ing,  and  already  seeing  his  plans 
annihilated.  The  report  of  his  capa- 
taz  added  to  his  discouragement,  for 
it  was  the  drop  of  wormwood  which 
makes  the  brimful  cup  run  over.  He 
withdrew  to  his  apartments  in  a  state 
of  dull  fury,  and  in  his  impotent 
rage  accused  himself  for  having  ven 
tured  into  this  frightful  situation, 
for  he  felt  himself  rapidly  gliding 
down  a  fatal  slope,  where  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  stop. 

What  added  to  his  secret  agony 
was,  that  he  must  incessantly  send 
off  couriers,  receive  reports,  talk 
with  his  confidants,  and  feign  in 
their  presence  not  merely  calmness 
and  gayety,  but  also  encourage  them, 
and  impart  to  them  an  ardor  and 
hope  which  he  no  longer  possessed. 

The  whole  night  was  spent  thus. 
A  terrible  night,  during  which  the 
general  endured  all  the  tortures  that 
assail  an  ambitious  man  on  the  eve 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


145 


of  a  scandalous  plot  against  a  gov 
ernment  which  he  has  sworn  to  de 
fend.  He  was  agitated  by  those  dull 
murmurs  of  the  conscience  which  can 
never  be  thoroughly  stifled,  and 
Vhich  would  inspire  pity  for  these 
unhappy  men,  were  they  not  care 
ful,  by  their  own  acts,  to  put  them 
selves  beyond  the  pale  of  that  hu 
manity  of  which  they  have  become 
ival  monsters.  The  most  wholesome 
lesson  that  could  be  given  to  those 
ambitious  manikins,  so  frequent  in 
the  lower  strata  of  society,  would 
be  to  render  them  witnesses  of  the 
crushing  agony  that  attacks  any 
cabccilla  during  the  night  that  pre 
cedes  the  outbreak  of  one  of  its 
horrible  plots. 

Sunrise  surprised  the  general  giv 
ing  his  final  orders.  Worn  out  by 
the  fatigue  of  a  long  watch,  with 
pallid  brow,  and  eyes  inflamed  by 
fever,  he  tried  to  take  a  few  mo 
ments  of  restorative  rest,  which  he 
so  greatly  needed ;  but  his  efforts 
were  fruitless,  for  he  was  suffering 
from  an  excitement  too  intense,  at 
the  decisive  hour,  for  sleep  to  come 
and  close  his  eyes. 

Already  the  bells  of  all  the 
churches  were  pealing  out,  and  fill 
ing  the  air  with  their  joyous  notes. 
In  all  the  streets,  and  in  all  the 
squares,  boys  and  leperos  were  let 
ting  off  crackers,  and  uttering  deaf 
ening  cries,  which  more  resembled 
bursts  of  fury  than  demonstrations 
of  joy.  The  people,  dressed  in  their 
holiday  clothes,  were  leaving  their 
houses  in  masses,  and  spreading 
like  a  torrent  over  the  city. 

The  review  was  arranged  for  seven 
o'clock  A.M.,  so  that  the  troops  might 
be  spared  the  great  heat  of  the  day. 
They  were  massed  on  the  Paseo  de 
Bucarelli  and  the  road  connecting 
that  promenade  with  the  Alameda. 

We  have  already  stated  that  the 
Mexican  army,  twenty  thousand 


strong,  has  twenty-four  thousand 
officers.  Hence,  in  the  enormous 
crowd  assembled  to  witness  the  re 
view,  uniforms  were  in  a  majority  ; 
for  all  the  officers  living  on  half- 
pay  in  Mexico,  for  some  reason  or  an 
other,  considered  themselves  bound 
to  attend  the  review  as  amateurs. 

At  a  quarter  to  eight  o'clock  the 
drums  beat,  the  troops  presented 
arms,  a  deafening  shout  was  raised 
by  the  crowd,  and  the  President  of 
the  Eepublic  arrived  on  the  Paseo, 
followed  by  a  large  staff,  glistening 
with  gold  and  lace,  and  with  a  cloud 
of  feathers  waving  in  their  cocked 
hats. 

The  Mexicans,  much  resembling 
in  this  respect  another  nation  we 
are  acquainted  Avith,  adore  feathers, 
aiguillettes,  and,  before  all,  em 
broidered  uniforms.  Hence  the 
President  was  warmly  greeted  by 
the  enthusiastic  crowd,  and  his  ar 
rival  was  converted  into  an  ovation. 
General  Guerrero  had  joined  the 
President's-  staff  in  his  full-dress 
uniform,  as  Colonel  Lupo  and  other 
conspirators  had  also  done ;  the 
rest,  dispersed  among  the  crowd, 
and  well  armed  under  their  cloaks, 
were  giving  drink  to  the  already 
half-intoxicated  leperos,  and  secretly 
exciting  them  to  begin  an  insurrec 
tion. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  review  went 
on  without  any  hitch.  It  is  true 
that  the  President  restricted  himself 
to  riding  along  the  front,  and  then 
ordering  the  troops  to  march  past, 
for  he  did  not  dare,  owing  to  the 
notorious'  ignorance  of  the  officers 
and  soldiers,  risk  the  execution  of 
any  manoeuvre,  for  it  would  not  have 
been  understood,  and  would  have 
broken  the  charm  under  which  the 
spectators  were  fascinated.  Then 
the  President,  still  followed  by  his 
staff,  proceeded  to  the  cathedral. 
We  will  not  say  any  thing  about 


THE     RED    TRACK. 


the  official   receptions,    etc.,    which 
occupied  all  the  morning. 

The  hour  for  the  bull-fight  ar 
rived.  Since  the  review  no  one 
troubled  himself  about  the  troops^ 
who  seemed  to  have  suddenly  dis 
appeared — not  a  soldier  was  visible 
in  the  streets;  but  the  people  did 
not  think  of  them,  for  they  were 
letting  off  fireworks,  laughing  and 
shouting,  which  was  quite  sufficient 
to  amuse  them.  It  was  only  noticed 
that  these  soldiers,  though  invisible 
about  the  city,  had  apparently 
passed  the  word  to  each  other  to  be 
present  at  the  bull-fight.  Nearly 
the  whole  of  the  palcos  de  sol  in  the 
circus,  that  is  to  say,  the  parts  ex 
posed  to  the  sun,  were  thronged 
with  soldiers,  grouped  pell-mell 
with  the  leperos,  and  offering  the 
most  pleasant  contrast  with  these 
ragged  scamps,  who  were  yelling 
and  whistling. 

The  President  arrived,  and  the 
circus  was,  in  a  second,  invaded  by 
the  mob.  Since  an  early  hour  the 
Jamaica  had  begun,  that  is  to  say, 
the  framework  of  verdure  raised  in 
the  centre  of  the  arena,  forming  re 
freshment-rooms,  had,  since  day 
break,  been  filled  with  a  countless 
number  of  leperos,  who  ate  and 
drank  with  cries  of  ferocious  de 
light. 

Suddenly,  at  a  given  signal,  the 
gate  of  the  torril  was  opened,  and  a 
bull,  embollado,  rushed  into  the 
arena.  Then  began  an  extraordinary 
indescribable  scene,  resembling  one 
of  those  diabolical  meetings  so  ad 
mirably  designed  by  Callot. 

The  leperos,  surprised  by  the  ar 
rival  of  the  bull,  darted,  shouting, 
pushing,  and  upsetting  each  other, 
over  the  framework,  which  they 
threw  down  and  trampled  under  foot 
in  their  terror,  while-  seeking  to 
escape  the  pursuit  of  the  embollado, 
who,  also  excited  by  the  tumult, 


hunted  them  vigorously.  In  a  sec 
ond  %the  arena  was  deserted,  the  re 
freshment-rooms  swept  clean,  and 
the  performers  in  the  Jamaica  sought 
any  shelter  they  could  find  on  the 
edge  of  the  palcos  or  upon  the 
columns,  from  which  they  hung  in 
hideous  yelling  and  grimacing  clus 
ters. 

A  few  leperos,  however,  bolder 
than  the  rest,  had  darted  to  the 
Monte  Parnasso,  not  only  to  find 
a  shelter  there,  but  also  to  tear  away 
allthecolored  handkerchiefs  fastened 
to  the  branches.  In  a  twinkling  the 
thick  foliage  was  hidden  by  the 
crowd  of  leperos  who  invaded  it. 

The  bull,  after  amusing  itself  for 
some  minutes  in  tossing  about  the 
remains  of  the  framework,  stopped 
and  looked  cunningly  around,  and 
soon  noticed  the  tree,  the  only  ob 
stacle  left  to  remove,  in  order  to 
completely  empty  the  arena. 

It  remained  motionless  for  an 
instant,  as  if  hesitating  ere  it  formed 
a  resolution  ;  then  it  bowed  its  head, 
made  the  sand  fly  with  its  fore-feet, 
lashed  its  tail  violently,  and,  rush 
ing  at  the  tree,  dealt  it  repeated  and 
powerful  blows. 

The  leperos  uttered  a  cry  of 
despair.  The  tree,  which  was  over 
laden,  and  incessantly  sapped  at  its 
base  by  the  bull,  swayed,  and  at  last 
fell  sideways,  carrying  down  in  its 
full  the  leperos  clinging  to  its 
branches.  The  audience  clapped 
their  hands  and  broke  into  frenzied 
bravos,  which  changed  into  perfect 
yells  of  delight  when  a  poor  fellow, 
who  was  limping  away,  was  sud 
denly  caught  up  by  the  bull,  and 
tossed  ten  feet  high  in  the  air. 

All  at  once,  and  at  the  moment 
when  the  joy  was  attaining  its  par 
oxysm,  several  rounds  of  artillery 
were  heard,  followed  by  a  well-sus 
tained  musketry  fire.  As  if  by 
magic  the  bull  was  driven  back  to 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


the  torril ;  the  soldiers  scattered 
about  the  circus  leaped  into  the 
ring,  and  becoming  actors  instead 
of  spectators,  drew  up  in  good  order, 
and  levelled  their  muskets  at  the  oc 
cupiers  of  the  galleries  and  boxes, 
who  remained  motionless  with  terror, 
for  they  did  not  understand  what 
was  going  on. 

A  door  opened,  and  twenty  bands 
men,  followed  by  eight  officers,  and 
escorted  by  a  dozen  soldiers,  entered 
the  ring,  and  began  beating  the 
drums.  It  was  a  governmental 
l>ando.  So  soon  as  silence  was  re 
stored  martial  law  was  proclaimed, 
and  sentence  of  outlawry  passed  on 
General  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero  and 
his  adherents,  who  had  just  raised 
the  standard  of  revolt,  and  pro 
nounced  against  the  established 
government. 

The  crowd  listened  to  the  bando 
in  a  stupor  which  was  heightened 
by  the  fact  that  with  each  moment 
the  firing  became  sharper,  find  the 
artillery  discharges  shook  the  air  at 
more  rapid  intervals. 

Mexico  was  once  again  the  prey 
of  one  of  those  scenes  of  murder 
and  carnage  which,  since  the  Procla 
mation  of  Independence,  has  too 
often  stained  her  streets  and  squares 
with  blood. 

The  President  was  on  horseback 
in  the  centre  of  the  arena,  sending 
off  orders,  listening  to  messages,  or 
detaching  reinforcements  wherever 
they  were  wanted.  The  circus  was 
converted  into  the  head-quarters  of 
the  army  of  order,  and  the  specta 
tors,  although  allowed  to  depart 
after  some  arrests  had  been  effected 
among  them,  remained  trembling  in 
their  seats,  preferring  not  to  venture 
into  the  streets,  which  had  been  con 
verted  into  real  battle-fields. 

Still  the  pronunciamiento  was 
assuming  formidable  proportions. 
General  Guerrero  had  not  played 


for  so  heavy  a  stake  without  trying 
to  secure  to  his  side  all  probable 
chances  of  success ;  and  that  success 
would  most  ably  have  crowned  his 
efforts,  had  he  not  been  betrayed. 
For,  in  spite  of  all  the  precautions 
taken  by  the  government,  the  affair 
had  been  begun  so  warmly  and  res 
olutely  that,  after  the  contest  had 
continued  for  three  hours,  it  was 
impossible  to  say  on  which  side  the 
advantage  would  remain. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE   PRONUNCIAMIENTO. 

IN  any  revolution,  the  insurgents 
have  always  an  immense  advantage 
over  the  government  they  are  at 
tacking,  from  the  fact  that,  as  they 
hold  together,  know  their  numbers, 
and  act  in  accordance  with  a  long 
worked-out  plan,  they  are  not  only 
cognizant  of  what  they  want,  but 
also,  whither  they  are  proceeding. 
The  government,  on  the  other  hand, 
however  well  informed  it  may  be, 
and  however  well  on  its  guard,  is 
obliged  to  remain  for  a  considerable 
length  of  time  in  an  attitude  of 
armed  expectation,  without  knowing 
whence  the  danger  that  menaces  it 
will  come,  or  the  strength  of  the 
rebellion  it  will  have  to  combat. 

On  the  other  hand,  again,  as  the 
secret  of  the  discovery  of  the  plot 
remains  with  a  small  band  of  confi 
dential  agents  of  the  authorities,  the 
latter  do  not  know  at  first  whom  to 
trust,  or  whom  to  reckon  on.  They 
suspect  everybody,  even  the  very 
troops  defending  them,  whom  they 
fear  to  see  turning  against  them  at 
any  moment,  and  overthrowing 
them.  This  is  more  especially  the 


148 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


case  in  Mexico  and  all  the  old  Span 
ish  colonies,  where  the  governmental 
system  is  essentially  military,  and  is 
consequently  only  based  on  naturally 
unintelligent  and  venal  troops,  who 
are  utterly  deficient  of  patriotic 
feelings,  and  whom  interest  alone, 
that  is  to  say,  pay  or  promotion,  can 
keep  to  their  duty. 

The  history  of  all  the  revolutions 
which,  during  the  last  fifty  years, 
have  caused  torrents  of  blood  to  flow 
in  the  New  World,  is  entirely  con 
tained  in  the  last  passage  we  have 
written. 

The  President  of  the  Republic  had 
been  informed  of  the  designs  of  the 
general,  as  far  as  that  was  possible ;  he 
had  known  for  more  than  a  month 
that  a  vast  plot  was  being  formed; 
he  even  was  aware  of  the  probable 
day  fixed  for,  the  pronunciamiento, 
but  he  did  not  know  a  syllable  about 
the  plans  arranged  by  Don  Sebas 
tian  and  his  adherents.  As  the  plot 
was  to  burst  out  in  Mexico,  the 
President  had  filled  the  capital  with 
troops,  and  called  in  those  on  whose 
fidelity  he  thought  he  could  reckon 
with  the  greatest  certainty. 

But  his  preparations  were  neces 
sarily  restricted  to  this,  and  he  had 
been  constrained  to  wait  till  the 
revolution  commenced. 

It  burst  forth  with  the  suddenness 
of  a  peal  of  thunder  at  twenty  places 
simultaneously,  at  about  the  second 
hour  of  the  tarde.  The  President, 
who  was  at  once  informed,  and  who 
had  only  come  to  the  circus  in  order 
not  to  be  invested  in  the  govern 
ment  palace,  instantly  took  the 
measures  bethought  most  efficacious. 

The  news,  however,  rapidly  ar 
rived,  and  became  worse  and  worse, 
and  the  insurrection  was  assuming 
frightful  proportions.  The  revolters 
at  first  tried  to  instal  themselves  on 
the  Plaza  Mayor  in  order  to  seize 
the  government  palace;  but  being 


repulsed  with  loss,  after  a  very  se 
rious  contest,  they  ambuscaded  them 
selves  in  Tacuba,  Secunda  Monter- 
illa,  and  San  Augustin  streets,  erected 
barricades,  and  exchanged  a  sharp 
fire  with  the  faithful  troops. 

The  cannon  roared  in  the  square, 
and  the  balls  made  large  gaps  in  the 
ranks  of  the  insurgents,  who  replied 
with  yells  of  rage  and  increased 
firing. 

Colonel  Lupo  had  taken  possession 
of  two  city  gates,  which  he  burned 
down,  and  through  which  fresh  re 
inforcements  reached  the  insurgents, 
who  now  proclaimed  themselves 
masters  of  one-third  of  the  city. 
-The  foreign  merchants,  established 
in  Mexico,  had  hoisted  their  national 
flags  over  their  houses,  in  which 
they  remained  shut  up,  and  suffering 
great  anxiety. 

The  President  was  still  standing 
motionless  in  the  centre  of  the  circus, 
frowning  at  each  new  message,  or 
angrily"striking  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle  with  his  clenched  fist.  All 
at  once  a  man  glided  secretly  be 
tween  his  horse's  legs,  and  gently 
touched  his  boot.  The  general 
turned  round  quickly. 

"Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  on  recog 
nizing  him.  "At  last !  Well,  Curu- 
rnilla?" 

But  the  Indian,  without  answer 
ing,  thrust  a  folded  paper  into  his 
hand,  and  disappeared  as  rapidly  as 
he  had  come.  The  general  eagerly 
scanned  the  letter,  which  only  con 
tained  these  words,  written  in 
French — "All  is  going  on  well. 
Charge  vigorously." 

The  general's  face  grew  brighter; 
he  drew  himself  up  haughtily,  and 
brandishing  his  sword  with  a  mar 
tial  air,  shouted  in  a  voice  heard  by 
all,  "Forward,  Muchachos!" 

Then,  digging  his  spurs  into  his 
horse's  sides,  he  galloped  out  of  the 
circus,  followed  by  the  greater  part 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


149 


of  the  troops,  the  remainder  receiving 
orders  to  hold  their  present  position 
until  further  warning. 

"Now,"  said  the  .President  to  the 
officers  who  pressed  round  him,  "the 
game  is  won;  within  an  hour  the 
insurrection  will  be  conquered." 

In  fact  matters  had  greatly  al 
tered.  This  is  what  had  occurred: 

Valentine,  as  we  said,  had  taken 
a  house  in  Tacuba  Street,  and  an 
other  in  the  vicinity  of  the  San 
Lazaro  gate.  During  the  night  that 
preceded  the  pronunciamiento,  four 
hundred  resolute  soldiers,  com 
manded  by  faithful  officers,  were 
introduced  into  the  house  in  Tacuba 
Street,  where  they  remained  so  well 
hidden  that  no  one  suspected  their 
presence.  A  similar  number  of 
troops  were  stowed  away  in  the 
house  at  the  San  Lazaro  gate. 

Don  Martial,  at  the  head  of  a  large 
body  of  men,  slipped  into  the  small 
house  belonging  to  the  capataz,  and, 
being  warned  by  the  latter  so  soon 
as  the  general  had  gone  off  to  at 
tend  the  review,  he  passed  into  his 
mansion  through  the  masked  door 
we  know,  and  occupied  it  without 
striking  a  blow. 

The  Tigrero  straightway  set  a 
trap,  in  which  several  of  the  princi 
pal  chiefs  of  the  insurgents  were 
caught,  believing  that  they  would 
find  General  Guerrero  at  home,  and 
were  at  once  made  prisoners. 

These  three  points  occupied,  they 
waited.  Colonel  Lupo  had  attacked 
the  San  Lazaro  gate  so  vigorously 
and  unexpectedly,  that  it  was  im 
possible  to  prevent  him  burning  it. 
A  very  obstinate  fight  at  once  began, 
and  the  colonel,  after  a  brave  resist 
ance,  had  been  at  length  oompelle'd 
to  retreat  and  fall  back  on  the  main 
body  of  the  insurgents,  who  were 
Btill  masters,  or  nearly  so,  of  the 
centre  of  the  city. 

We  have  mentioned  that  in  Mexico 


all  the  houses  are  flat-roofed;  hence, 
in  any  revolution,  the  scenes  in  the 
street  are  repeated  on  the  terraces 
of  the  houses ;  for  the  tactics  adopted 
in  such  cases  are  to  line  these  ter 
races  with  soldiers.  Through  u 
strange  fatality  the  insurgents,  while 
seizing  the  principal  streets,  had 
forgotten,  or  rather  neglected  to 
occupy  the  houses,  as  they  believed 
themselves  masters  of  the  situation. 

All  at  once  the  terraces  in  Tacuba 
Street,  looking  on  the  Plaza  Mayor, 
were  covet^i  with  sharpshooters, 
who  began  a  tremendous  fire  on  the 
insurgents  collected  beneath  them. 
The  same  manoeuvre  was  simulta 
neously  executed  in  Monterilla  and 
San  Augustin  Streets,  and  the  ter 
races  of  the  palace  were  covered 
with  troops  also. 

The  artillery  men,  whohad  hitherto 
fired  at  long  range,  now  brought  up 
their  guns  almost  within  pistol-shot 
of  the  streets,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
musketry-fire  of  the  insurgents, 
bravely  posted  their  batteries  and 
began  hurling  showers  of  canister 
among  the  defenders  of  the  barri 
cades. 

Almost  simultaneously,  the  troops 
faithful  to  the  government  appeared 
in  the  rear  of  the  rebels,  and  being 
supported  by  the  sharpshooters  on 
the  terraces,  charged  vigorously  to 
the  incessantly  repeated  cry  of 
"Mejico,  Mejico,  Independencia !" 

The  insurgents  felt  they  were 
lost,  for  they  were  caught  between 
three  fires ;  still  they  offered  a 
courageous  resistance,  for,  knowing 
that  if  they  fell  alive  into  the  hands 
of  the  conqueror,  they  would  bo 
mercilessly  shot,  they  allowed  them 
selves  to  be  killed  with  Indian 
stoicism,  and  did  not  yield  an  inch 
of  ground. 

The  general  was  in  a  terrible 
rage;  without  a  hat,  his  face 
blackened  with  gunpowder,  and  his 


150 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


uniform  torn  in  several  places,  he 
leapt  his  horse  over  the  corpses, 
and  dashed  blindly  into  the  thick 
of  the  government  troops,  followed 
by  a  small  band  of  friends,  who 
bravely  let  themselves  be  killed  at 
his  side. 

The  fight  was  positively  de 
generating  into  a  massacre  ;  the  two 
parties,  as  unhappily  always  hap 
pens  in  civil  wars,  fought  with  the 
greater  fury  and  obstinacy  because 
brothers  were  contending  against 
brothers,  and  many  *8f  them,  for 
whom  politics  were  only  a  pretext, 
took  advantage  of  the  medley  to 
satiate  personal  hatred  and  avenge 
old  insults. 

However,  this  could  not  go  on  for 
long  thus,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
get  out  of  the  situation  at  all 
risks.  General  Guerrero,  unaware 
of  the  occupation  of  his  house,  re 
solved  to  fight  his  way  thither, 
barricade  himself,  and  obtain  an 
honorable  capitulation  for  himself 
and  his  comrades. 

No  sooner  was  the  plan  conceived 
than  the  execution  was  attempted. 
Don  Sebastian  collected  round  him 
all  the  fighting  men  left,  and  formed 
them  into  a  small  band — for  the 
canister  and  bullets  had  made 
frightful  ravages  in  the  ranks  of 
the  insurgents — and  placed  himself 
at  their  head. 

"  Forward,  forward  1"  he  shouted 
as  he  rushed  at  the  enemy. 

His  men  followed  him  with  yells 
of  fury.  The  collision  was  terrible, 
the  fight  fearful ;  for  four  or  five 
minutes  a  funeral  silence  brooded 
over  this  confused  mass  of  com 
batants,  who  attacked'  each  so 
savagely.  They  stabbed  each  other 
mercilessly,  disdaining  to  use  their 
firearms,  and  preferring  as  a  speedier 
resource,  the  sharp  points  of  their 
sabres  and  bayonets. 


At  length  the  President's  troops 
fell  back  slightly,  the  insurgents 
took  advantage  of  it  to  redouble 
their  efforts,  which  were  already 
superhuman,  and  reached  the  gen 
eral's  house.  The  doors  were  broken 
open  in  an  instant,  and  all  rushed 
pell-mell  into  the  courtyard.  They 
were  saved  !  since  they  had  at  last 
reached  the  shelter  were  they  hoped 
to  defend  themselves. 

At  this  moment  a  frightful  thing 
happened ;  the  gallery  commanding 
the  courtyard  and  the  stairs  was 
entirely  occupied  by  soldiers,  and 
so  soon  as  the  insurgents  appeared, 
the  muskets  were  pointed  down  at 
them,  a  tornado  of  fire  passed  over 
them  like  the  blast  of  death;  and  in 
a  second  a  mass  of  corpses  covered 
the  ground. 

The  insurgents,  terrified  by  this 
sudden  attack,  which  they  were  so 
far  from  anticipating,  hurriedly  fell 
back,  instinctively  seeking  an  outlet 
by  which  to  escape.  The  tumult 
then  became  terrible,  and  the  massa 
cre  assumed  the  proprotions  of  an 
organized  butchery.  Driven  back 
into  the  courtyard  by  the  troops 
who  pursued  them,  and  met  there  by 
those  who  had  attacked  them  and 
now  charged  at  the  bayonet  point, 
these  wretched  men,  rendered  sense 
less  by  terror,  did  not  dream  any 
longer  of  employing  their  weapons, 
but  falling  on  their  knees  before 
their  executioners,  and  clasping 
their  trembling  hands,  they  implored 
the  mercy  of  the  troops,  who,  in 
toxicated  by  the  smell  of  blood,  and 
affected  by  that  horrible  murder- 
fever  which  seizes  upon  even  the 
coolest  man  on  the  battle-field,  felled 
them,  like  oxen  in  the  shambles, 
and  plunged  their  sabres  and  bay 
onets  into  their  bodies  with  grins 
of  delight  and  ferocious  laughter, 
and  felt  a  horrible  pleasure  in 


THE    RED    TRACK. 


151 


seeing  their  victims  writhe  with 
heart-breaking  cries  in  the  last  con 
vulsions  of  death. 

General  Don  Sebastian,  though 
wounded,  and  who  seemed  to  have 
been  protected  by  a  charm  through 
out  this  scene  of  carnage,  defended 
himself  like  a  lion  against  several 
soldiers,  who  tried  in  vain  to  transfix 
him  with  their  bayonets.  Leaning 
against  a  column  he  whirled  his 
sabre  round  his  head,  evidently 
seeking  death,  but  wishful  to  sell 
his  life  as  dearly  as  possible. 

Suddenly  Valentine  cleft  his  way 
through  the  combatants,  followed 
by  Belhumeur,  Black  Elk,  and 
Curumilla,  who  were  engaged  in 
warding  off  the  blows  the  soldiers 
incessantly  made  at  him,  and 
reached  the  general. 

"  Ah !"  the  latter  said  on  per 
ceiving  him,  "here  you  are  at  last, 
then." 

And  he  dealt  him  a  terrible  blow, 
but  Belhumeur  parried  it,  and 
Valentine  continued  to  advance. 

"  Withdraw,"  he  said  to  the  sol 
diers  who  surrounded  the  general, 
'•'this  man  belongs  to  me." 

The  soldiers,  though  they  did  not 
know  the  hunter,  intimidated  by 
the  accent  with  which  he  uttered 
these  words,  and  recognizing  in  him 
one  of  those  rare  men  who  can 
always  impose  on  common  natures, 
respectfully  fell  back  without  mak 
ing  the  slightest  objection. 

The  hunter  threw  his  purse  to 
them. 

"You  dare  to  defy  the  lion  at 
bay,"  the  general  shouted,  gnashing 
his  teeth ;  "  although  attacked  by 
dogs,  he  can  still  avenge  his  death." 

"You  will  not  die,"  the  hunter 
said  coldly;  "throw  away  that 
sabre,  which  is  now  useless." 

"Ah,  ah!"  Don  Sebastian  said 
with  a  grin  of  rage;  "I  am  not  to 
die ;  and  why  not,  pray  ?" 


"Because,"  he  answered,  in  a 
cutting  voice,  "death  would  be  a 
mercy  to  you,  and  you  must  be 
punished." 

"  Oh  !"  he  shrieked,  and,  blinded 
by  rage,  he  rushed  madly  at  the 
hunter. 

The  latter,  without  falling  back  a 
step,  contented  himself  with  giving 
a  signal.  At  the  same  moment  a 
slip-knot  fell  on  the  general's  shoul 
ders,  and  he  rolled  on  the  ground 
with  a  yell  of  rage.  Curumilla  had 
lassoed  him. 

In  vain  did  Don  Sebastian  at 
tempt  further  resistance;  after  use 
less  efforts  he  was  reduced  to" utter 
impotence,  and  forced,  not  only  to 
confess  he  had  been  vanquished,  but 
to  yield  himself  to  the  mercy  of 
his  conquerors.  The  latter,  at  a 
sign  from  Valentine,  disarmed  him 
first,  and  then  bound  him,  so  that  he 
could  not  make  the  slightest  move 
ment. 

The  massacre  was  ended,  the  in 
surrection  had  been  drowned  in 
blood.  The  few  rebels  who  sur 
vived  the  carnage  were  prisoners; 
the  victors,  in  the  first  moment  of 
enthusiasm,  had  shot  several,  and  it 
required  the  most  energetic  inter 
ference  on  the  part  of  the  officers  to 
check  this  rather  too  summary  jus 
tice. 

At  this  moment  joyous  shouts 
burst  forth,  and  the  President  of  the 
Republic  entered  the  courtyard  at 
the  head  of  a  large  staff,  glistening 
with  embroidery. 

"Ah,  ah !"  he  said,  as  he  took  a 
contemptuous  glance  at  the  general, 
who  had  been  thrown  on  the  stones, 
"  so  this  is  the  man  who  wished  to 
change  the  institutions  of  this  coun 
try?" 

Don  Sebastian  did  not  deign  to 
reply  ;  but  he  looked  at  the  speaker 
with  such  an  expression  of  impla 
cable  hatred,  that  the  President 


152 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


could  not  endure  it,  and  was  forced 
to  turn  his  head  away. 

"  Did  this  man  surrender  ?"  he 
asked  one  of  his  officers. 

"No,  coward,"  the  general  an 
swered,  with  clenched  teeth,  "  I  will 
not  surrender  to  hangmen." 

"Take  this  man  to  prison  with 
the  others,"  the  President  continued, 
"  an  example  must  be  made ;  but 
take  care  that  they  are  not  insulted 
by  the  people." 

"  Yes,"  the  general  muttered, 
"  ever  the  same  system." 

UA  full  and  entire  pardon,"  the 
President  continued,  "  will  be  grant 
ed  to  the  unhappy  men  who  were  led 
astray,  and  have  recognized  their 
crime.  The  lesson  they  have  re 
ceived  was  rather  rough,  and  I  am 
convinced  that  it  will  do  '  them 
good." 

"  Clemency  after  the  massacre, 
that  is  the  usual  way,"  the  general 
said  again. 

The  President  passed  without  an 
swering  him,  and  left  the  courtyard. 
A  few  minutes  later  the  prisoners 
were  led  away  to  prison,  in  spite  of 
the  efforts  of  the  exasperated  popu 
lace  to  massacre  them  on  the  road. 

General  Don  Sebastian  Guerrero 
was  one  of  the  first  to  appear  before 
the  tribunal.  He  disdained  any  de 
fence,  and  during  the  whole  trial 
preserved  a  gloomy  silence ;  he  was 
unceremoniously  condemned  to  be 
shot,  his  estates  confiscated,  and  his 
name  was  declared  infamous. 

So  soon  as  the  sentence  was  re 
corded,  the  general  was  placed  in 
the  chapel,  where  he  was  to  remain 
three  days  before  execution. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   CAPILLA. 

THE  Spanish  custom — a  custom 
which  has  been  kept  up  in  all  the 
old  colonies  of  that  power — of  plac 
ing  persons  condemned  to  death  in 
a  chapel,  requires  explanation,  in 
order  that  it  may  be  thoroughly 
understood  and  appreciated,  as  it 
deserves  to  be. 

Frenchmen,  over  wh^rn  the  great 
revolution  of  '93  passed  like  a  hur 
ricane,  and  carried  off  most  of  their 
belief  in  its  sanguinary  cloak,  may 
smile  with  pity  and  regard  as  a 
fanatic  remainder  from  another  age, 
this  custom  of  placing  the  con 
demned  in  chapel.  Among  us,  it  is 
true,  matters  are  managed  much 
more  simply :  a  man,  when  con 
demned  by  the  law,  eats,  drinks, 
and  remains  alone  in  his  cell.  If 
he  desire  it,  he  is  visited  by  the 
chaplain,  whom  he  is  at  liberty  to 
converse  with,  if  he  likes ;  if  not, 
he  remains  perfectly  quiet,  and  no 
body  pays  any  attention  to  him, 

J          •  •       I  1  1 

during  a  period  more  or  less  long, 
and  determined  by  the  rejection  of 
his  appeal.  Then,  one  fine  morn 
ing,  when  he  is  least  thinking  of 
it,  the  governor  of  the  prison  an 
nounces  to  him,  when  he  wakes,  as 
the  most  simple  thing  in  the  world, 
that  he  is  to  be  executed  that  same 
day,  and  only  an  hour  is  granted 
him  to  recommend  his  soul  to  the 
divine  clemency.  The  fatal  toilet 
is  made  by  the  executioner  and  his 
assistant,  the  condemned  man  is 
placed  in  a  close  carriage,  conveyed 
to  the  place  of  execution,  and  in  a 
twinkling  launched  into  eternity, 
before  he  has  had  a  moment  to  look 
round  him. 

Is  it  right  or  wrong  to  act  in  this 
way?  We  dare  not  answer,  yes  or 
no.  This  question  is  too  difficult  to 


THE     RED     TRACK. 


153 


decide,  and  would  lead  us  the  fur 
ther,  because  we  should  begin  with 
asking  society  by  what  right  it 
arrogates  to  itself  the  power  of  kill 
ing  one  of  its  members,  and  thus 
committing  a  cold-blooded  assassi 
nation,  under  the  pretext  of  doing 
justice  ;  for  we  confess  that  we  have 
ever  been  among  the  most  deter 
mined  adversaries  of  punishment  by 
death,  as  we  are  persuaded  that,  in 
trying  to  deal  a  heavy  blow,  human 
justice  deceives  itself,  and  goes  be 
yond  the  object,  because  it  avenges 
when  it  ought  merely  to  punish. 

We  will,  therefore,  repeat  here 
what  we  said  in  a  previous  work,  in 
explanation  of  what  the  Spaniards 
mean  by  the  phrase  "  placing  in 
chapel." 

When  a  m^|  is  condemned  to 
death,  from  that  moment  he  is,  de 
facto,  cut  oft'  from  that  society  to 
which  he  no  longer  belongs,  through 
the  sentence  passed  on  him ;  he  is 
consequently  separated  from  his  fel 
low-men. 

He  is  shut  up  in  a  room,  at  one  , 
end  of  which  is  an  altar ;  the  walls 
are  hung  with  black  drapery,  studded 
with  silver  tears,  and  here  and  there 
mourning  inscriptions,  drawn  from 
Holy  Writ.  Near  his  bed  is  placed 
the  coffin  in  which  his  body  is  to  be 
deposited  after  execution,  while  two 
priests,  who  relieve  each  other,  but 
of  whom  one  constantly  remains  in 
the  room,  say  mass  in  turn,  and  ex 
hort  the  criminal  to  repent  of  his 
crimes,  and  implore  divine  clemency. 
This  custom,  which,  if  carried  to  an 
extreme,  would  appear  in  our  coun 
try  before  all,  barbarous  and  cruel, 
perfectly  agrees  with  Spanish  man 
ners,  and  the  thoroughly  believing 
spirit  of  this  impressionable  nation; 
it  is  intended  to  draw  the  culprit 
back  to  pious  thought,  and  rarely 
fails  to  produce  the  desired  effect 
upon  him. 


The  general  was,  therefore,  placed 
in  capilla,  and  two  monks  belong 
ing  to  the  order  of  St. "Francis,  the 
most  respected,  and,  in  fact,  respect 
able  in  Mexico,  entered  it  with  him. 

The  first  hours  he  passed  there 
were  terrible;  this  proud  rnind, 
this  powerful  organization,  revolted 
against  adversity,  and  would  not 
accept  defeat.  Gloomy  and  silent, 
with  frowning  brows,  and  fists 
clenched  on  his  bosom,  the  general 
sought  shelter  like  a  wild  beast  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  recalling  his 
whole  life,  and  seeing  with  starts  of 
terror  the  bloody  victims  scattered 
along  his  path,  and  sacrificed  in 
turn  to  his  devouring  ambition, 
sadly  defile  before  him. 

Then  he  reverted  to  his  early 
years.  When  residing  at  the  Pal 
mar,  his  magnificent  family  hacienda, 
his  life  passed  away  calm,  pure, 
gentle,  and  tranquil,  without  re 
grets,  and  without  desires,  among 
his  faithful  servants.  Then,  he  was 
so  glad  to  be  nothing,  and  to  wish 
to  be  nothing. 

By  degrees  his  thoughts  folio ved 
the  bias  of  his  recollections:  the 
present  was  effaced ;  his  contracted 
features  grew  softer,  and  two  burn 
ing  tears,  the  first,  perhaps,  this 
man  of  iron  had  ever  shed,  slowly 
coursed  down  his  cheeks,  which 
grief  had  hallowed. 

The  monks,  calm  and  contem 
plative,  had  eagerly  followed  the 
successive  changes  on  this  emi 
nently  expressive  face.  They  com 
prehended  that  their  mission  of 
consolation  was  beginning,  and  ap 
proached  the  general  softly,  and 
wept  with  him ;  then  this  man, 
whom  nothing  had  been  able  to 
subdue,  felt  his  soul  torn  asunder ; 
the  cloud  that  covered  his  eyes 
melted  away  like  the  winter  snow 
before  the  first  sunbeam,  and  ho 
fell  into  the  arms  open  to  receive 


154 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


him,  exclaiming,  with  an  expression 
of  desperate  grief  impossible  to 
render — 

"  Have  mercy,  heaven !  have 
mercy !" 

The  struggle  had  been  short  but 
terrible  ;  faith  had  conquered  doubt, 
and  humanity  had  regained  its 
rights. 

The  general  then  had  with  the 
monks  a  conversation,  protracted 
far  into  the  night,  in  whicfh  he  con 
fessed  all  his  crimes  and  sins,  and 
humbly  asked  pardon  of  God  whom 
he  had  outraged,  and  before  whom 
he  was  about  to  appear. 

The  next  day,  a  little  after  sun 
rise,  one  of  the  monks,  who  had 
been  absent  about  an  hour,  returned, 
bringing  with  him  the  general's 
capataz.  It  had  only  been  with  ex 
treme  reluctance  that  Carnero  had 
consented  to  come,  for  he  justly 
dreaded  his  old  master's  reproaches. 

Hence  his  surprise  was  extreme 
at  being  received  with  a  smile,  and 
kindly,  and  on  finding  that  the 
general  did  not  make  the  slightest 
allusion  to  his  treachery,  which  the 
evidence  before  the  court-rnartial  had 
fully  revealed. 

Carnero  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
two  monks,  for  he  did  not  dare  put 
faith  in  his  master's  words,  and  each 
moment  expected  to  hear  him  burst 
out  into  reproaches.  But  nothing  of 
the  sort  took  place ;  the  general  con 
tinued  the  conversation  as  he  had 
begun  it,  speaking  to  him  gently  and 
kindly. 

At  the  moment  when  the  capataz 
was  about  to  withdraw,  the  general 
stopped  him. 

''One  moment,"  he  said  to  him; 
"you  know  Don  Valentine,  the 
French  hunter,  for  a  time  I  so  long 
cherished  an  insensate  hatred  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Carnero  stammered. 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  ask  him  to 
grant  me  the  favor  of  a  short  visit ; 


he  is  a  noble-hearted  man,  and  I  am 
convinced  that  he  will  not  refuse  to- 
come.  I  should  be  glad  if  he  con 
sented  to  bring  with  him  Don  Mar 
tial,  the  Tigrero,  who  has  so  much 
cause  to  complain  of  me,  as  well  as 
my  niece,  Dona  Anita  de  Torres. 
Will  you  undertake  this  commis 
sion,  the  last  I  shall  doubtless  give 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  general,"  the  capataz  an 
swered,  affected  in  spite  of  himself 
by  such  gentleness. 

"  Now  go ;  be  happy  and  pray 
for  me,  for  we  shall  never  meet 
again." 

The  capataz  went  out  in  a  very 
different  frame  of  mind  from  that  in 
which  he  had  entered  the  capilla,  and 
hastened  off  to  Valentine.  The 
hunter  was  not  at  ffcrne,  for  he  had 
gone  to  the  presidential  palace,  but 
he  returned  almost  immediately. 
The  capataz  gave  the  message  which 
his  old  master  had  entrusted  him 
with  for  him. 

"  I  will  go,"  the  hunter  said  sim 
ply,  and  he  dismissed  him. 

Curumilla  was  at  once  sent  off  to 
Mr.  E-allier's  quinta  with  a  letter, 
and  during  his  absence  Valentine 
had  a  long  conversation  with  Belhu- 
meur  and  Black  Elk.  At  about  five 
in  the  evening,  a  carriage  entered 
the  courtyard  of  Valentine's  house 
at  a  gallop  ;  it  contained  Mr.  Rallicr, 
Anita,  and  Don  Martial. 

"Thanks!"  he  said,  on  seeing 
them. 

"  You  ordered  me  to  come,  so  I 
obeyed  as  usual,"  the  Tigrero  an 
swered. 

"  You  were  right,  my  friend." 

"And  now  what  do  you  want  of 
us?" 

"  That  you  should  accompany  me 
to  the  place  whither  I  am  going  at 
this  moment." 

"Would  it  be  indiscreet  to  ask 
you " 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


155 


"  Where  ?"  the  hunter  interrupted 
him  with  a  laugh.  '-Not  at  all; 
I  am  going  to  lead  you,  Dona  Anita, 
and  the  persons  here  present,  to  the 
capilla  in  which  General  Guerrero  is 
confined." 

"The  capilla?"  the  Tigrero  ex 
claimed  in  amazement,  "for  what 
purpose  ?" 

"  What  does  that  concern  you  ? 
The  general  has  requested  to  see 
you,  and  you  cannot  refuse  the  re 
quest  of  a  man  who  has  but  a  few 
hours  left  to  live." 

The  Tigrero  hung  his  head  with 
out  answering. 

"Oh!  I  will  go!"  Dona  Anita 
exclaimed  impulsively,  as  she  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  ran  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  You  are  a  woman,  senorita,  and 
therefore  good  'and  indulgent,"  the 
( hunter  said ;  then  turning  to  the 
'  Tigrero,  he  said  with  a  slight  accent 
of  reproach,  "you  have  not  yet  an 
swered  me,  Don  Martial." 

"  Since  you  insist,  Don  Valentine, 
I  will  go,"  he  at  length  answered, 
with  an  effort. 

"  I  do  not  insist,  my  friend ;  I 
only  ask,  that  is  all." 

"Come,  Martial,  I  implore  you," 
Dona  Anita  said  to  him  gently. 

"  Your  will  be  done  in  this  as  in 
all  other  things,"  he  said.  "I  am 
ready  to  follow  you,  Don  Valentine." 

Valentine,  Dona  Anita,  Mr.  Ral- 
lier,  and  Don  Martial  got  into  the 
carriage.  The  two  Canadians  and 
the  chief  followed  them  on  horse 
back,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  gallop 
to  the  chapel  where  the  condemned 
man  was  confined. 

All  along  the  road  they  found 
marks  of  the  obstinate  struggle 
which  had  deluged  the  city  with 
blood  a  few  days  previously;  the 
barricades  had  not  been  entirely 
removed,  and  though  the  distance 
was,  in  reality,  very  short,  they  did 


not  reach  the  prison  till  nightfall, 
owing  to  the  detours  they  were 
forced  to  make. 

Valentine  begged  his  friends  to 
remain  outside,  and  only  entered 
with  Dona  Anita  and  the  Tigrero. 
The  general  was  impatiently  expect 
ing  them,  and  testified  a  great  joy 
on  perceiving  them. 

The  young  lady  could  not  restrain 
her  emotion,  and  threw  herself  into 
her  uncle's  arms  with  an  outburst  of 
passionate  grief.  The  general  pressed 
her  tenderly  to  his  bosom,  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead. 

"I  am  the  more  affected  by  these 
marks  of  affection,  my  child,"  he 
said,  with  much  emotion,  "because 
I  have  been  very  harsh  to  you. 
Can  you  ever  forgive  me  the  suffer 
ings  I  have  caused  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  uncle,  speak  not  so.  Are 
you  not,  alas !  the  only  relation  I 
have  remaining?" 

"  For  a  very  short  time,"  he  said, 
with  a  sad  smile,  "  that  is  the  reason 
why  I  ought,  without  further  delay, 
to  provide  for  your  future." 

"  Do  not  talk  about  that  at  such  a 
moment,  uncle,"  she  continued, 
bursting  into  tears. 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  child,  it  is 
at  this  moment,  when  I  am  going  to 
leave  you,  that  I  am  bound  to  insure 
you  a  protector.  Don  Martial,  I 
have  done  you  great  wrong;  here  is 
my  hand ;  accept  it  as  that  of  a  man 
who  has  completely  recognized  his 
faults,  and  sincerely  repents  the  evil 
he  has  done." 

The  Tigrero,  more  affected  than 
he  liked  to  display,  took  a  step  for 
ward,  and  cordially  pressed  the  hand 
offered  him. 

"General,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
which  he  tried  in  vain  to  render 
firm,  "this  moment,  which  I  never 
dared  hope  to  see,  fills  me  with 
joy,  but  at  the  same  time  with 
grief." 


156 


THE    BED    TRACK. 


"  Well,  you  can  do  something  for 
me  by  proving  to  me  that  you  have 
really  forgiven  me." 

"  Speak,  general,  and  if  it  is  in  my 
power ,"  he  exclaimed  warmly. 

"I  believe  so,"  Don  Sebastian  an 
swered,  with  his  sad  smile.  "  Con 
sent  to  accept  my  niece  from  my 
hand,  and  marry  her  at  once  in  this 
chapel." 

"Oh,  general !"  he  began,  choking 
with  emotion. 

"Uncle,  at  this  awful  moment!" 
the  young  lady  murmured,  timidly. 

"Allow  me  the  supreme  consola 
tion  of  dying  under  the  knowledge 
that  you  are  happy.  Don  Valen 
tine,  you  have  doubtless  brought 
some  of  your  friends  with  you  ?'' 

"They  are  awaiting  your  com 
mands,  general,"  the  hunter  an 
swered. 

"  Let  them  come  in,  in  that  case, 
for  time  presses." 

One  of  the  monks  had  prepared 
every  thing  beforehand. 

When  the  hunters  and  the  French 
banker  entered,  followed  by  Curu- 
millaj  and  the  officer  commanding 
the  capilla  guard,  who  had  been 
warned  beforehand,  the  general 
walked  eagerly  toward  them. 

"Senores,"  he  said,  "I  would  ask 
you  to  do  me  the  honor  of  witness 
ing  the  marriage  of  rny  niece,  Dona 
Anita  de  Torres,  with  this  cabal- 
lero." 

The  new-comers  bowed  respect 
fully.  At  a  signal  from  one  of  the 
Franciscans  they  knelt  down  and 
the  ceremony  began.  It  lasted 
hardly  twenty  minutes,  but  never 
had  a  marriage  mass  been  read  or 
listened  to  with  more  pious  fervor. 
When  it  was  ended,  the  witnesses 
wished  to  retire. 

"One  moment,  senores,  if  you 
please,"  the  general  said,  to  them. 
"I  now  wish  to  make  you  witnesses 
of  a  great  reparation." 


They  stopped,  and  the  general 
walked  up  to  Valentine. 

"Caballero,"  he  said  to  him,  "I 
know  all  the  motives  of  hatred  you 
have  against  me,  and  those  motives 
I  allow  to  be  just.  I  am  now  in  the 
same  position  in  which  I  placed 
Count  de  Prebois  Crance,  your  dear 
est  friend.  Like  him,  I  shall  be  shot 
to-morrow  at  daybreak;  but  with 
this  difference,  that  he  fell  as  a  mar 
tyr  to  a  holy  cause,  and  innocent  of 
the  crimes  of  which  I  accused  him, 
while  I  am  guilty,  and  have  de 
served  the  sentence  passed  on  me. 
Don  Valentine,  I  repent  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  the  iniquitous 
murder  of  your  friend.  Don  Val 
entine,  do  you  forgive  me?" 

"General  Don  Sebastian  Guer 
rero,  I  forgive  you  the  murder  of 
my  friend,"  the  hunter  answered,  in 
a  firm  voice.  "I  forgive  you  the 
life  of  grief  to  which  I  am  hence 
forth  condemned  by  you." 

"You  pardon  me  unreservedly?" 

"  Unreservedly  I  do." 

"Thanks!  We  were  made  to 
love  instead  of  hate  each  other.  I 
misunderstood  you ;  but  yours  is  a 
great  and  noble  heart.  Now,  let 
death  come,  and  I  shall  accept  it 
gladly;  for  I  feel  convinced  that 
God  will  have  pity  on  me  on  ac 
count  of  my  sincere  repentance. 
Be  happy,  niece,  with  the  husband 
of  your  choice.  Senores/  all,  accept 
my  thanks.  Don  Valentine,  once 
more  I  thank  you ;  and  now  leave 
me  all,  for  I  no  longer  belong  to 
the  world,  so  let  me  think  of  my 
salvation." 

"  But  one  word,"  Valentine  said. 
"  General,  I  have  forgiven  you,  and 
it  is  now  my  turn  to  ask  your  par 
don.  I  have  deceived  you." 

"  Deceived  me !" 

"Yes:  take  this  paper.  The 
President  of  the  Kepublic,  employ 
ing  his  sovereign  right  of  mercy, 


THE    KED    TRACK. 


157 


has,  on  my  pressing  entreaty,  re 
voked  the  sentence  passed  on  you. 
You  are  free." 

His  hearers  burst  into  a  cry  of 
admiration. 

The  general  turned  pale ;  he  tot 
tered,  and  for  a  moment  it  was 
fancied  that  he  was  about  to  fall. 
A  cold  perspiration  stood  on  his 
temples.  Dona  Anita  sprang  for 
ward  to  support  him,  but  he  re 
pulsed  her  gently,  and,  with  a  great 
effort,  exclaimed,  in  a  choking 
voice — 

"  Don  Valentine,  Don  Valentine, 
such  then  is  your  revenge.  Oh, 
blind,  blind  that  I  was  to  form  such 
an  erroneous  opinion  of  you  !  You 
condemn  me  to  live.  Well,  be  it 
so ;  I  accept,  and  will  not  deceive 
your  expectations.  Fathers,"  he 
said,  turning  to  the  monks,  lead 
me  to  your  monastery.  General 
Guerrero  is  dead,  and  henceforth  I 
shall  be  a  monk  of  your  order." 

Don  Sebastian's  conversion  was 
sincere.  Grace  had  touched  him, 
and  he  persevered.  Two  months 
after  professing,  he  died  in  the 
Franciscan  Monastery,  crushed  by 
remorse  and  worn  out  by  the  cruel 
penance  he  inflicted  on  himself. 

Two  days  after  the  scene  we  have 
described,  Valentine  and  his  com 
panions  left  Mexico,  and  returned 
to  Sonora.  -  On  reaching  the  fron 
tier,  the  hunter,  in  spite  of  the. 
pressing  entreaties  of  his  friends, 
separated  from  them,  and  returned 
to  the  desert. 

Don  Martial  and  Dona  Anita  set 
tled  in  Mexico,  near  the  Ralliers. 
A  month  after  Valentine's  depart 
ure,  Dona  Helena  returned  to  the 


convent,  and  at  the  end  of  a  year, 
in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  her 
family,  who  were  surprised  at  so 
strange  a  resolution,  which  nothing 
apparently  explained,  the  young 
lady  took  the  vows. 

When  I  met  Valentine  Guillois 
on  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Joaquin, 
some  time  after  the  events  recorded 
in  this  long  story,  he  was  going 
with  Curumilla  to  attempt  a  hazard 
ous  expedition  across  the  Eocky 
Mountains,  from  which,  he  said  to 
me,  with  that  soft,  melancholy  smile 
which  he  generally  assumed  when 
speaking  to  me,  he  hoped  never  to 

return. 

##-»## 

I  accompanied  him  for  several 
days,  and  then  we  were  compelled 
to  separate.  He  pressed  my  hand, 
and,  followed  by  his  dumb  friend, 
he  entered  the  mountains.  For  a 
long  time  I  looked  after  him,  for  I 
involuntarily  felt  my  heart  con 
tracted  by  a  sad  foreboding.  He 
turned  round  for  the  last  time,  waved 
his  hand  in  farewell,  and  disappeared 
round  a  bend  of  the  track. 

I  was  fated  never  to  see  him  again. 

Since  then  nothing  has  been  heard 
of  him,  or  of  Curumilla.  All  my 
endeavors  to  join  them,  or  even  ob 
tain  news  of  them,  were  vain. 

Are  they  still  living? — no  one 
can  say.  Darkness  has  settled  down 
over  these  two  magnificent  men,  and 
time  itself  will,  in  all  probability, 
never  remove  the  vail  that  conceals 
their  fate;  for  all,  unhappily,  leads 
me  to  suppose  that  they  perished  in 
that  gloomy  expedition  from,  which 
Valentine  hoped,  alas !  never  to  re 
turn. 


THE      END. 


10 


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tion  of  Li  uda.    Price  $1.00  in  paper  ;  or  $1.50  iu  cloth. 
The  Lost  Daughter.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Courtship  and   Marriage.   -Two  voK,  pupor 

cover.    Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  iu  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Rena;  or,  The  Snow  Bird.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  Ona  Dollar;  or  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Marcus  Warland.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  bound  ia  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Love  after  Marriage.    Two  vols.,  paper  covf-r. 

Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
The   Planter's   Daughter.    Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  Oue  Dollar ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Eoliiie;  or,  Magnolia  Vale.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
The    Banished    Son.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Helen  and  Arthur.    Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1 .50. 
Ernest   Linwood.     Two   volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

DIRS.  HENRY  WOOD'S  WORKS. 
The  Shadow  of  Ashlydyat.  Two  vols.,  papct 

cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2.1 
Squire  Trevlyn's  Heir.    Two  volume*,  papot 

cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  *1  2.1. 
The  Castle's  Heir.    Two  vols  ,  octavo,  paper  r<w 

ver.  Price  One  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  41. 23. 


MRS.  SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 

Love's  Labor  \Voii.  Two  voU.,  paper  cover. 
i'i.ce  Cue  Dollar;  or  ill  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

TJ»e  Glp«y's  Prophecy.  Complete  ia  two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

Mother-ln-Law.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  pa 
per  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

Tlie  Haunted  Homestead.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Lady  of  the  Isle.  Complete  in  two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Tvro  Sisters.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  pa 
per  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  iu  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Tlirce  Beauties.  Complete  in  two  vols., 
papercover.  Price$1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth, $1.50. 

Vivla.  The  Secret  of  Power.  Two  vols.,  pa 
per  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

India.  The  Pearl  of  Pearl  River.  Two 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Wife's  Victory.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Lost  Heiress.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Missing  Bride.  Two  volumes,  papet  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Retribution:  A  Tale  of  Passion.  Two  vols., 
papercover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Curse  of  Clifton.     Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
The  Discarded  Daughter.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
The  Deserted  Wife.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  oue  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
The  Jealous  Husband.  Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Courtship  and  Matrimony.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  PriceOue  Dollar;  oriu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
T«ie  Belle  of  Washington.  Two  vols.,  paper 

cover.  PriceOue  Dollar;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
The  Initials.  A  Love  Story.  Two  vols..  paper 

cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Kate  Avlesford.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Pric« 

One  Dollar;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
The  Dead  Secret.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  oue  vol..  cloth,  $1.50. 
Hickory  Hall.  By  Mrs.  Southworth.  Price  50  cts. 
The  Broken  Engagement.  Price  25  cents. 

MRS.  AN.V   S.  STEPHENS'  WORKS. 

T'»e  Heiress.     Two  volumes,  paper  cover.     Price 

One  Dollar;  or  In  one  volume,  cloth,  for $1.50. 
Mary    Dertvent.    Two    volumes,     paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one- volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Kwshlon  and  Famine.  Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.      Price  $1 .00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  (J1.50. 
The    Old     Homestead.    Two   volumes,    paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 


Verner's  Pride.    Two  vols.,  octavo,  papercover, 

Price  One  Dollar;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

We  also  publish  a  "  Kailway  Edition"  of  the  above, 

each  one  in  one  vol  ,  paper  cover.     Price  Oue  D  »i!ar. 

The    Karl's    Heirs.     One  volume,  octavo,  pappr 

cover.     Price  Fifty  cents  ;  or  oue  vol.,  cloth,  75  CIH. 

The    Mystery.      One  vol.,   octavo,  paper  »over. 

Fifty  cents ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  75  ceuts. 
A  Life's  Secret.    One  vol.,  octavo,  paper  cover. 

Price  Fifty  eeuts  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  75  cent*. 
The  Channingg.     One  vol.,  octavo,  paper  cover. 

Price  75  cents;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.00. 

Aurora   Floyd.     One  vol..  octavo,   paper  cover, 

Price  50  cents;  or  a  fiuer  edition,  in  cloth,  for  $1  00 

Better  for  Worse.    One  volume.    Price  50  cents 

The  Foggy  Night  at  Offord.    Price  25  cents 

W.   H.   MAXWELL'S    WORKS. 
Stories  of  Waterloo.    One  of  the  best  books  H» 

the  English  language.    One  vol.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Brian    O'Lynn ;   or.   Luck  is  Everything.     Com 
plete  in  one  volume.     Price  50  cents. 
\Vild  Sports  in  the  West.    Price  50  cents. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  Keceipt  of  the  Price. 

(3) 


T    B    PETERSON  &    BROTHERS'  LIST    OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


MISS    PARDOE'S    WORKS. 

Confessions    of    a    Pretty    AVoman.       By 

AIi.is  i'ardoe..     Complete  iu  oue  large  octavo  volume. 

1'nce  Fifty  cents. 
TUe  Jealous  Wife.     By  Miss  Purdoo.     Complete 

iu  one  lai'ije  ocuivo   Volume.      Price  i'my  ceuls. 
The    Wife's     Trials.     By   Mi  MX   Pardt»>.      Com- 

iin'ti:  iu  ^uo  1-irgd  ociavo  volume.     1'nuo  Jj'iiiy  ceuis. 
TJie   Rival    Beauties.     By  Miss  Panloe.     Com 
plete  in  one  lar^e  octavo  volume.     Price  Fifty  IVUK. 
Romance    of    tUe    Harem.     By   Miss  Panloe. 

Complete  in  oue  large  octavo  vol.     Price.  ijl;y  cents. 
Miss    Pardoe's     Complete     Works.      Tlii* 

comprises    the  wholt   of  the  iiltooe  Five  work-i,  mid 

are  bound  in  cloth,  yilt,  in  one  Itirye  octaeu  wlumu. 

Price  $-2.50. 
Tlte  Adopted  Heir.     By  Miss  Pardoe.    Two  vols. 

p.iper.   Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  SI. JO. 

CHARLES    DICKENS'    WORKS. 

ILLUSTRATED    OCTAVO  EDITION. 

Pickwick  Papers.     Oue  vol.,  cloth, $2.00 

Nicholas  Nickleby.     One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Great  Expectations.     One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Lamplighter's  Story.     One  vol.,  cloth,....  2.00 

David  Copperfleld.  One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Oliver  Twist.    One  volume,  cloth, 2.00 

Bieak  House.     Oue  vol.,  cloth 2.00 

Little  Dorrlt.     One  vol.,  cloth, „ 2.00 

Dombey  ami  Son.     One  vol.,  cloth 2.00 

Sketches   by  "Box."     One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Barnaby  Rudge.      Oue  vol.,  cloth 2.00 

Martin  Chnzzlewlt.     One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Old  Curiosity  Shop.     One  vol.,  cloth, 2.00 

Christmas  Stories.     Oiie  vol.,  cloth 2.00 

Dickens'  New  Stories.  One  vol.,  cloth,....  2.00 
A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  One  vol.,  cloth,....  2.00 
American  Notes  and  Pic-Nlc  Papers.  2.00 

Pri.-o  of  a  set,  in  Black  cloth,  in  17  volumes $32.00 

'•          "         Full  Law  Library  style 4'2  00 

t>          «        Half  calf,  or  Half  Turkey 48.00 

«          "        Half  calf,  marbled  edge*  :">».(»> 

«  ««         Half  calf,  antique  60.00 

«•          •<        Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc 60.00 

PEOPLE'S  DUODECIMO  EDITION. 

Pickwick   Papers.     One  vol,  cloth, $1.75 

Nicholas   Nlckleby.     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.75 

Oreat  Expectations.     Oue  vol.,  cloth, 1.7.5 

Lamplighter's  Story.     One  vol.,  cloth,....  1.73 

David   Copperfteld.     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.7.1 

Oliver  Twist.     One  vol.,  cloth 1.73 

Bleak   House.     One  vol.,  cloth 1.75 

Little   Dorrlt.     Oue  vol.,  cloth, 1.75 

Dombey  and    Son.     Oue  vol.,  cloth 1.75 

Christmas  Stories.     Oue  vol.,  cloth, 1.73 

Sketches  by   "  Boz."     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.75 

Barnaby  Rndge.     Oue  vol.,  cloth 1  73 

Martin    Chiiizlewit.     Oue  vol.,  cloth, 1.7.5 

Old  Curiosity    Shop.     One  vol.,  cloth, 1.75 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  One  vol.,  cloth,...  1.7.5 
Dickens' New  Stories.  Oue  vol..  cloth,...  1.50 
Dickens' Short  Stories.  Oue  vol.,  cloth,  1.50 
Message  from  the  Sea.  One  vol.,  cloth,...  1.00 

Price  of  aset,  in  Bl  ick  cloth,  in  17  volumes $2900 

•'  "         Full  Law  Library  style  3TOO 

"  "         Half  calf,  or  Half  Turkey 42.00 

«'  "         Half  calf,  marbled  edges, 41. no 

"  "         Half  calf,  antique 50.0') 

"  "         Half  calf,  full  j;ilt  backs,  etc  .50  On 

"  "        Full  calf,  antique 60  no 

"  "  Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  backs,  etc..  CO.OO 


CHARLES  DICKENS'   WORKS. 

DUODECIMO  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION. 

Pickwick  Papers.     Two  vols.,  cloth 3.0t 

A  Talc-  of  Two  Cities.     Two  vols.,  cloth,..  3.00 

Nicholas  Nic-kleby.     Two  vols.,  cloth, .".('0 

Da  vid   Copperflvld.     Two  vols.,  cloth, 3."0 

Oliver  Twist.     Two  volumes,  cloth, 3.00 

(' .iris!  ma»    Siories.     Two  volumes,  cloth,..  3.l<0 

U  «-alc  House.     Two  volumes,  cloth, •'  l/cj 

Little   Dorrit.     Two  volumes,  cloth 3.00- 

Dombey  ai»d  Son.     Two  volumes,  cloth, S.oo 

Sketches  by    "Boz."   Two  volumes,  cloth,  3.00 

Barnaby  Rudge.     Two  volumes,  cloth, :!.   -' 

Martin  Chiizzlewit.     Two  vols.,  cloth, 3.00 

Old  Curiosity    Shop.     Two  vols.,  cloth 3.00 

Great  Expectations.  Ono  vol..  cloth 1.7."> 

Lamplighter's  Story.  Oue  vol.,  tloth,....  1.75 
Dickens'  Ne-»v  Stories.  One  vol.,  cloth,...  1.7.1 
Message  from  the  Sea.  One  vol.,  cloth,..  1.7.5 

Price  of  a  set,  iu  Thirty  volumes,  bound  in 

Black  cloth,  h'lk  backs $i:,.00 

"  "         Full  Law  Library  style S5.00 

"  "          Half  calf,  antique 9t).0l) 

"  "          Half  calf,  full  Kilt  back 00  <>0 

"  ««         Full  calf,  antique 100.00 

"  "         Full  call',  giit  edges,  bucks,  etc.  101'  00 

CHEAP  EDITION,  PAPEK  COVER. 
This  edition  is  published  complete  iu  Tweuty-f'> 
large  octavo  volumes,  in  paper  o*ver,  as  follows.   Pri'1 
Fifty  cents  a  volume. 
Pickwick  Papers.      , 
Great  Expectations. 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 
New  Years'  Stories. 
Barnaby  Rndgc. 

Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

Little  Dorrlt. 
David  Copperfleld. 

Sketches   by  "  Boz." 

Dickens'  Neiv  Stories. 
American   Notes. 
Oliver  Twist. 

Lamplighter's  Story. 
Dombey  and  Sou. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 
Holiday  Stories. 

Martin  Chiizzlewit* 
Bleak  House. 

Dickens'  Short  Stories. 
Message  from  the  Sea. 
Christmas   Stories. 
Pie-Nic  Papers. 

LIBRAET  OCTAVO  EDITION.     IX  7  VOLUMES. 
This  edition  is  in  SEVEX  very  large  octavo  voluin.-, 

wilh  a  Portrait  on  steel  of  Charles  Dickeus.aud  bouud 

in  the  following  vari  ussiyles. 

Price  of  a  set,  in  T.lack  Cloih.  in  seven  volumes, .$1-1  01 

»  ••  ^carli-t  cl.'tli.  cxtni, 150') 

"  "  Law  Library  style, 17.. -.> 

«  "  Half  Turkey,  or  half  calf,  "'"  ' 

"  «;  Hid fcaif,  m'ai bled  odsjes, 2I.C' 

«  «'  Half  rait',  :mtiqnp, "">  -  1 

'•  ••  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc......  2J.OO 

DR.    HOLLICK'S    \VORKS. 

Dr.Hollick's  Anatomy  and  Physiology  ; 

with  a  lariro  Dissected  Plate  of  the  Unman   Figure. 
Price  Oue  Dollar  and  Twenty-Five  cents,  bound. 
Dr.  Hollick's  Family  Physician.    A  Pocket 

Guide  for  Everybody.     Price  25  ceuts. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Vftrks  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  Beceipt  of  the  Price. 


T.  B.  PETERSON   &   BROTHERS'  LIST    OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES    LEVER'S    WORKS. 

Fine  Edition,  bound  gepurattlu, 

Charles  O'Malley,  fine  edition,  cloth, $1.50 

Harry  Lorrequer,  Hue  edition,  cloth, 1.30 

Jack  Million,  fine  edition,  cloth, 1.50 

lj;i\  t  uport  Lsiinii,  line  edition,  cloth, 1.50 

Tom  Burke  of  Onrs,  flue,  edition,  cloth 1.50 

Arthnr  O'Leary,  fine  edition,  cloth, '1.50 

Con  Cregau,  fine  edition,  cloth, 1.30 

Ivnigiit  of  Gwyiiue,  line  edition,  clotli, 1.30 

Valentine  Vox,  fine  edition,  cloth, 1.50 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  flno  edition,  one 
volume,  cloth, 1.30 

CHARLES  LEVER'S  NOVELS. 

All  neatly  done  tip  i>i  puper  covers. 

CHarles  O'Malley, Price.  30  cents. 

Harry    Lorrequer, 50      " 

Horace    Templetoii, 60      " 

Tom    Burke   of  Ours, 60      " 

Artiiur   O'Leary, 60      " 

.Tack   Iliulon,  the  Guardsman,..    50      " 

Tlie  Knight  of  G-wymie, 50      " 

Ivate    O'Donoghue, 60      " 

Cou  Cregau,  the  Irish  Gil  Bias,     50      " 

Davenport  Dunn, 30      " 

LIBRARY  EDITION. 
TUTS  EDITION*  is  complete  in  FIVE  large  octavo 
Volumes,  containing  Charles  0'Malley,  Hurry  I."rrc- 
f[iio*-,  Horace  Tcmpleton,  Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  Arthur 
ti' l.i -.try,  Jack  Hiutoii  the  Guardsman.  Tlie  Knight  of 
Gu  ynn'e,  Kate  O'Uoiioghiie.  etc.,  handsomely  printed, 
and  bound  in  various  styles,  as  follows  : 

Price  of  a  set  in  Black  clotli $7.50 

"  "        Scarlet  cloth, 8.00 

"  "        Law  Library  sheep, 8.75 

"  "         Half  Calf, 12.00 

"  "        Half  Calf,  marbled  edges, 12.50 

"  "         Half  Calf,  anthiiio,....*. lj.00 

SAMUEL  C.  WARRKX'S  KOOICS. 
Te>»  Thousand  n  Year.     Complete  in  iwo  vol 
umes,    paper   cover,     Price,   One    Dollar;  or  a  finer 
edition,  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Eiary  of  a  Medical  Student.     By  author  of 
"Ten  Thousand  a  Year."     Price  50  cents. 

EMERSON  BENNETT'S  WORKS. 
THe  Border  Rover.  Fine  edition  bound  in  cloth, 

f..r*1.5n;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
Clara  Morelaiid.  Fine  edition  bound  in  cloth,  for 

"11.50;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
Violn.     Fine  edition   bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50;  or 

Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
The   Forged  Will.    Fine  edition  bound  in  cloth, 

f.«r  $1.50;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
Kilcii  Norhury.    Fine  edition  bound  in  cloth,  for 

$1.50;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
Bride  of  tlie  Wilderness.    Fine  edition  bound 

in  cloth,  for  $1.50  ;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  tjil.00. 
Kate   Clarendon.     Fine  edition  bound  in  cloth, 

fur  $1.50;  or  Railroad  Edition  for  One  Dollar. 
Heiress  of  Bellefoiite  &.  Walde-Warren. 

Cheap  edition,  paper  cover.     Price  50  cents. 
IMoneer's  Daughter  ;   and  tlie  Unknown 

Countess.    Cheap  edition,  paper  cover.    60  cents. 

DOKSTICKS'     BOOKS. 
Doestlckb'  Letters.   Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper 

c.iver.    Price  One  Dollar;  or  in  one  vul.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
Pl«-ri-hus-tah.      Complete   in  two  vols.,   paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  iu  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 
T'.e    Elepliant    Clnl).     Complete  in  two  vi.K, 

TIM  |ii-r  cover.    Price  fl. 00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1. 50. 
Witches  of  New  York.    Complete  in  two  vols., 

pap.-T  cover.   Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol. .cloth,  $1.50. 
Noll. ing  to  Say.     Illustrated.     Prire  50  cents. 


|    WILK1E  COLLINS'   GREAT   WORKS. 

Tlie  Head  Secret.  One  volume,  octavo,  p.-. per 
cover.  Price  fifty  cents;  or  bound  iu  one  Vul  , 
cloih,  for  75  cents;  or  a  fine  12mo.  edition,  in  two 
vols.,  pjtpcr  cover,  iu  large  type,  tor  Oue  Dollar,  or 
in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.60. 

Tlie  Crossed  I'adi;  or,  Basil.  Two  volg  , 
paper  cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  iu  one  vul  , 
cloih,  for  (JS1.50. 

Hide  and  Seek.  One  vol.,  octavo,  paper  cover. 
.  Price  fit'iy  cents;  or  bound  iu  oue  vol.,  lor  76  etuis. 
After  Dark.  One  vol.,  octavo,  paper  cover  Price 

lifty  ceuu  ;   or  oue  vol.,  bouud  iu  cloth,  lor  75  ceu;s. 
SigUls  Afoot;  or  Travels  Beyond  Railways.    Oue 

volume,  octavo,  paper  cover.     Price  50  cents. 
THe  Stolen  Mask.     Price  2-3  cents. 
.Sister  Rose.     Price  25  cents. 
Tlie  Yellow  Mask.     Price  25  cents. 

COOK    BOOKS. 

Petersons'  New  Cook  Book;  or  Useful  F<*- 
eeipU  for  the  Housewife  and  the  Uninitiated.  Full 
of  valuable  receipts,  all  original  aiid  never  before 
published,  all  of  which  will  be  found  lobe  very  valu- 
abio  and  of  daily  use.  Oue  vol.,  bouud.  Price  $J  00. 

Miss  Leslie's  New  Cookery  Book.  Being 
her  last  new  book.  One  volume,  bound.  Price  $150. 

Widdifield's  New  Cook  Book;  or.  Practical 
Receipts  for  the  Housewife.  Cloth.  Price  $1.25 

Mrs.  Hale's  New  Cook  Book.  By  Mrs.  Sarah 
J.  Hale.  One  volume,  bouud.  Price  $1.25. 

Miss  Leslie's  New  Receipts  for  Cooking. 
Complete  in  one  volume,  bouud.  Price  $1.25. 

MRS.   HALE'S    RECEIPTS.       - 
Mrs.    Hale's    Receipts    for    the    Million. 

Containing  4515   Receipts.     By  Mrs.  Sarah   J.  Hale. 
One  vol,,  800  pages,  strongly  bouud.     Price,  $1  50. 

MISS    LESLIE'S    BEHAVIOUR    BOOK 

Miss  Leslie's  Behaviour  Book.  A  complete 
Guide  aud  Manual  for  Ladies.  Price  $1.50. 

FBANCATELLI'S  FRENCH  COOK. 
Prancatelli's  Celebrated  French  Coolc 
Book.  The  Modern  Cook.  A  Practical  Guide 
to  the  Culinary  Art,  in  all  its  branches  :  compriMtg, 
in  addition  to  English  Cookery,  the  most  approved 
and  reelierch-'  systems  of  French.  Italian,  aud  German 
Cookery  ;  adapted  as  well  I'or  the  largest  establish 
ments,  as  for  the  use  of  private  families.  By 
CHARLKS  EM1E  FKAKCATELLI,  pupil  to  the  cele 
brated  CAKK.MK.  and  late  JIa  tre-d'H,  tel  and  Chief 
Cook  to  her  Majesty,  the  Qneru  of  England.  With. 
Sixty-Two  Illustrations  of  various  dishes.  Reprinted 
from"  the  Ninth  London  Edition,  carefully  revised  and 
considerably  enlarged.  Complete  iu  one  large  octavo 
volume  of  Six  Hundred  pages,  strongly  bound,  and 
printed  on  the  finest  double  super-calendered  paper. 
Price  Three  Dollars  a  copy. 

J.  A.  MAITLAND'S  GREAT  WORKS. 

The  Three  Cousin*.  By  J.  A.  Maitland.  Tw« 
vols.,  paper.  Price  #1. 00  :  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Watchman.  Complete  in  two  large  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  #1.00  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  \Vnnderer.  Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Diary  of  an  Old  I>octor.  Two  vols.,  pa 
per  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.50. 

The  Lawyer's  Story.  Two  volumes,  paper  co 
ver.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  bound  in  cloth  for  $1.50. 

Sartaroe.  A  Tale  of  Norway.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  iu  cloth  for  $1.50. 

MRS.  DANIELS'  GREAT  "WORKS. 

Marry  iiijf  for  Money.    One  vol.,  octavo,  paper 
cover.      Price  fifty  cents  ;  orone  vol.,  cloth,  75  tiuia. 
The  Poor  Cousin.    Price  50 cents. 
Kate  AValsiiigham.    Price  50  cents. 


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6         T.  B.  PETEESON  &  2KOTHERS'  LIST  0?  PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER    DUMAS'    WORKS. 

Count  of  Hlonte-Cristo.  By  AlexauderDumas. 
Beautifully  illustrated.  One  volume,  clotli,  $1.50  ; 
or  iu  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  for  One  Dollar. 

The  Conscript.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  Cue  Dollar  ;  or  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Cnmille;  or  the  Camelia  Lady.  The  only 
correct  Translation  from  the  Original  French.  Two 
volumes,  paper,  price  One  Dollar;  or  iu  clotli,  $1.50. 

The  Three  Guardsmen.  Price  75  cents,  in 
paper  cover,  or  a  finer  edition  in  cloth,  for  $1.5*). 

Twenty  Years  After.  A  Sequel  to  the  "  Three 
Guardsmen."  Price  75  cents,  in  paper  cover,  or  a 
finer  edition,  iu  one  volume,  cloth,  1'or  $1.50. 

Bragelonne  ;  the  Son  of  Athos:  being  the 
continuation  of  "Twenty  Years  After."  Price  75 
cents,  iu  paper,  or  a  liner  edition,  iu  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Iron  Mask.  Being  the  continuation  of  the 
"Three  Guardsmen."  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Louise  La  "Valliere  ;  or,  The  Second  Series  and 
end  of  the  "  Iron  Mask."  Two  volume*,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

THe  Memoirs  of  a  Physician.  Beautifully 
Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Q,ueeii's  Necklace.  A  Sequel  to  the  "  Me 
moirs  of  a  Physician."  Two  vols  ,  paper  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

8lx  Years  Later ;  or,  Taking  of  the  Bastile.  A  Con 
tinuation  of  "The  Queen's  Necklace."  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol., 
cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Countess  of  Charny  ;  or,  The  Fall  of  the  French 
Monarchy.  Sequel  to  Six  Years  Later.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume, 
cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Andree  de  Taverney.  A  Sequel  to  and  conti 
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paper.  Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Chevalier.  A  Sequel  to,  and  final  end  of 
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The  Adventures  of  a  Marquis.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar;  or  in  one  vol., 
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The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen.  Price  75  cents, 
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The  Iron  Hand.  Price  75  cento,  in  paper  cover, 
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Diana  of  Meridor.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Edmond  Dantes.  Being  a  Sequel  to  Dumas' 
celebrated  novel  of  the  "Count  of  Monte-Cristo." 
One  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

Annette ;  or,  The  Lady  of  the  Pearls. 
A  Companion  to  "  Camille."  Price  50  cents. 

The  Fallen  Angel.  A  Story  of  Love  and  Life 
in  Paris.  One  volumo.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Man  with  Five  Wives.  Complete  in 
one  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

George  ;  or,  The  Planter  of  the  Isle  of 
France.  One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Genevievej  or,  The  Chevalier  of  Maison  Rouge. 
One  volume.  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Mohicans  of  Paris.    Price  50  cents. 

Sketches  in  France.     One  vol.     Price  50  cents. 

Isabel  of  Bavaria.    One  vol.     Price  50  cents. 

Felina  de  Chambiire  ;  or,  The  Female  Fiend. 
.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Horrors  of  Paris.     One  vol.     Price  50ct.«. 

The  Twin  Lieutenants.   One  vol.  Price  50  ct». 

The  Corsican  Brothers.     Price  25  cents. 
COINS    OF     THE    WORLD. 

Petersons' Complete  Coin  Book,  containing 
Perfect  Fac  Similes  of  all  thn  various  Gold,  Silver, 
and  other  Metallic  Coins,  throughout  the  World, 
niMr  Two  Thousand  in  all,  being  the  most  complete 
Coin  Book  in  the  World,  tvith  the  United  States  Mint 
Value  of  each  Coin  under  it.  Price  $1.00. 


FRANK    E.     SMEDLEY'S     WORKS. 

Harry  Coverdale's  Courtship  and  Mar 
riage.  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  clotli,$1.50. 

Lorrimer  Lit  tit-good.  By  author  of  "Frank 
Fairlegh."  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price $1  ;  or  cloth,  $1.50. 

Frank  Fairleigh.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.50  ;  or 
cheap  edition  iu  paper  cover,  for  70  cents. 

Lewis  Arnudel.  One  vol.,  cloth.  Price  $1.50; 
or  cheap  edition  in  paper  cover,  for  75  cents. 

Fortunes  and  Misfortunes  of  Harry 
Racket.  Scwpcgrace.  Cloth.  Price  $1.50  ;  or 
cheap  edition  iii  piiper  cover,  for  iO  cents. 

Tom  Racquet ;  and  His  Three  Maiden  Aunts. 
Full  of  beautiful  illustrations.  Price  50  cents. 

MISS   BREMER'S   NEW  WORKS. 

The  Father  and  Daughter.  By  Fredrika  Bre- 
mer.  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1. 00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Four  Sisters.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  N eighborg.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Home.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Life  ill  the  Old  World;  or,  Two  Years  in 
Switzerland  ;iud  Italy.  Complete  in  two  large  duo 
decimo  volumes,  of  near  1000  pages.  Price  $3.00. 

GREEN'S  WORKS  ON  GAMBLING. 

Gambling  Exposed.  By  J.  H.  Green,  the  Re 
formed  Gambler.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 
$1.00  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  gilt,  for  $1.50. 

The  Gambler's  Life.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  gilt,  for  $1.50 

Secret  Band  of  Brothers.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Reformed  Gambler.  Two  vols.,  paper. 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

MRS.   GREY'S   NEW    BOOKS. 
Little   Beauty.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Price 

Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Cousin   Harry.    Two  vols.,  paper  cover.     Pric« 

One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 
Th.e    Flirt.      One   volume,   octavo,    paper    cover. 

Price  Fifty  cents  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  75  cents. 

MRS.    GREY'S    POPULAR    NOVELS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 

Gipsy's  Daughter.        Baronet's  Daugh- 
Lena  Cameron.  ters. 

Belle  of  the  Family.      The  Young  Prima 
Sybil  Lennard.  Donna.    : 

Duke   and  Cousin.         Alice   Seymour. 
The  Little  Wife.  Hj  acinthe. 

The     Manoeuvring        Passion  &,  Pritici- 

Mother.  pie.    50  cents. 

Old  Dower  House.         Mary  Seaham.   fiOc. 

G.  P.  R.  JAMES'S  NEW  BOOKS. 

The  Cavalier.  An  Historical  Romance.  With  a 
steel  portrait  of  the  author.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  clotli,  for  $1.50. 

Lord  Montagu's  Page.  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Man  in  Black.    Price  50  cents. 

Arrah  Neil.     A  Novel.     Price  50  cents. 

Mary  of  Burgundy.     Price  50  cents. 

Eva  St.  Clair ;  and  other  Tales.    Price  25  cents. 

MISS  ELLEN  PICKERING'S  WORKS. 

Price   TJnrty-EigUt  Cents  each. 
Who  Shall  be  Heir  1     Ellen  Wareham. 
The  Secret  Foe.  Nan  Darrel. 

The  Expectant.  Prince  A,  Pedlar. 

The  Fright.  The  Grumbler.  50e 

Quiet  Husband.  Orphan  Niece.  50  c. 

Merchant's  Daughter.     The  Squire. 


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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS, 


MILITARY  NOVELS. 
lly    Lever,    Dumas    and    other   Authors. 

With  Illuminated  Military  Covers,  in  Colors. 

Published   aud    for  bale   at  wholesale,  by  the  dozen, 
haadraU,  or  tb.uu->a.ud,  at  very  low  rates. 

Tteir  Smites  are  a-s  Followt  : 

Charles  O'.>Ialley,  Tho  Irish  Dr-igoon,  Price    50 
Jack  Ilititmi,  the  Guardsman  .......................     50 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne  ...........................    50 

Harry  Lorreqncr  ......................................    50 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours  ..................................    50 

Arthur  O'Leary  .........................................    50 

Con.  Cregan'-t   Adventures  ......................    50 

Kate  O  Donoghue  ......................................     50 

Horace  Teniplcton  ....................................    60 

Davenport   Duttn  ..............................  .  .......    60 

The  Conscript.     Two  vols.,  each  .................    60 

Following  the  Drum  ..............................    50 

Valentine  Vox.     By  Harry  Cockton  .............    50 

Twin  Lieutenants  ...................................     50 

Stories  of  Waterloo  .................................    50 

The  Soldier's  Wife  ....................................    50 

Guerilla  Chief  ............................................    50 

The  Three  Guardsmen  ............................    75 

Twenty  Years  After  .................................     75 

ISragelonne,  the  Son  of  Athos  ........................    75 

Wallace,  Hero  of  Scotland  ....................    73 

Forty-five  Guardsmen  ...........................    75 

The  Quaker  Soldier.    Two  vol*.,  each  ......    50 

Sutlers  in  the  Army,  Pedlars  and  Canvassers,  can 
Srtll  thousands  of  the  above  works,  all  of  which  are 
publish")!  with  Illuminated  Military  covers,  in  colors, 
in.iking  them  the  most  attractive  books  ever  printed. 

REYNOLDS'   GREAT  WORKS. 
steries    of    the    Court     of      London. 

Complete  in  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  ; 

or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
Hose  Foster;  or,  "The  Second  Series  of  the  Myste 

ries  of  the  Court  of  London."      1  vol.,  cloth.     $2.00; 

or  in  three  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  $1.50. 
Caroline  of   Brunswick  5  or,  the  "  Third  S»- 

rie*  of  the  Mysterios  of  the  Court  of  London."    Ci    .- 

piete  iu  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50      >r 

in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
Venetia  Trelawney  ;  being  the  "Fourth  Series, 

or  final  conclusion  of  the  Mysteries  of  tho  Court  of 

London."     Complete  in  one  vol.,  iu  cloth,  for  $1.50; 

or  ia  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
Loril  Saxoudale;    or,  The  Court  of  Qnoen  Victo 

ria.    Complete  in  one  large  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50;  or 

in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  Oue  Dollar. 
Count  Chrlstoval.   The  "Sequel  to  Lord  Saxon- 

d.ile."  Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  ; 

or  iu  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  Oue  Dollar. 
Rosa  Lambert  ;   or,  The  Memoirs  of  an  Unfortu 

nate  Woman.     One  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  ;  or 

iu  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
Mary  Price;  or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Servant-Maid. 

Complete  in  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for$1.50;  or  in 

two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  Oue  Dollar. 
Eustace  Qiientiii.     A  "Sequel  to  Mary  Prico.'' 

Complete  ia  one  large  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50  ; 

or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  Oue  Dollar. 
Joseph  Wilmot  ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of  a  Man-Ser 

vant.    Complete  iu  one  vol.,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.60; 

or  in  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
The  Banker's  Daughter.     A  Sequol  to  "Jo 

seph  Wilraot.  "    Complete  iu  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.50; 

or  in  two  volume.*,  paper  cover,  price  One  Dollar. 
Kenneth.    A  Romance  of  the  Highland*.    Complete 

in  one  large  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50;  or  in 

two  volumes,  paper  cov«-r,  price  One  Dollar. 

The  Rye-House  Plot;  or,  Ruth,  the  Conspira 
tor's  Daughter.  Oue  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  for 
fl.50;  or  in  two  vol*.  ,pa;w  cover,  priceOno  Dollar. 


Mys 


REYNOLDS*  GREAT  WORKS. 

The     \tcromaucer.     A  Komaiu.;  01'  tii.j   .   .:;«» 

of  Henry  the  Kighth.     One  vol.,  bonud  In  cloth,  fuf 

$1.50;  or  iu  two  vols.,  paper  cover,  prico  Oue  DjHar. 

The     Opera     Dancer;      or,    The    Myst-ri'M    of 

London  Life.     Complete  in  oua  vol.     Price . W  cent*. 

The    Kiiined    Gamester.     With    Illustrations. 

Complete  in  oiie  large  octavo  vol.     Price  Fifty  c,>uts. 

Wallace  :    the   Hero  of  Scotland.     Illu.sJra- 

ted  wilh  Thirty-eight  plates.     Price  7.i  cents. 
The    Child   of  Waterloo;   or,  Tho  Hormr^of 
the  Battle  Field.    Complete  in  ono  vol.    Price  JO  cents. 
The  Countess   and  the  Page.    Complete  iu 

one  largo  volume.     Price  50  ccuii. 
Clprina;    or,   The    Secrets  of   a  Picture 

Gallery.     Complete  iu  one  vol.     Price  :JO  cculs. 
Robert  Bruce  :  the   Hero  King  of  Scot 
land,  with  his  Portrait.     One  vol.     Price  50  cents.  . 
Isabella    Vincent;   or,  The  Two  Orphans.     One 

volume,  paper  cover.     Price  50  cents. 
Vivian  Bertram  ;  or,  A  Wife's  Honor.     A  Sequel 

to  "  Isabella  Vincent."     One  vol.     Price 50 ceuts. 
Tlie  Countess  of  Lascelles.   The  Continuation 

to  "Vivian  Bertram."     Oue  vol.     Price  50  cents. 
Diike   of  Marchmont.    Being  the  Conclusion 

of  "The  Couutess  of  Lascolles."    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Gipsy    Chief.     Beautifully  Illustrated.      ComplcW 

in  one  large  octavo  volume.     Price  75  cents. 
Pickwick  Abroad.     A  Companion  to  the  "Pick 
wick  Papers,"  by"Boz."     One  vol.     Price  50  ceuss. 
Queen  Joanna;  or,  the  Mysteries  of  the 

Court   of  Naples.    Price  50  cents. 
Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots.    Complete  in 

one  large  octavo  volume.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
May  Middleton  ;  or,  The  History  of  a  Fortnno. 

Price  50  cents. 

The.  Loves  of  the  Harem.    Price  50  cents. 
'I' In:  Discarded  Queen.     One  vol.     50  cents. 
Ellen  Percy  ;  or,  Memoirs  of  Actress.    Price  50  cts. 
Massacre  of  Glencoe.    Price  50  coats. 
Agnes  Evelyn  ;  or,  Beauty  and  Pleasure.    60  cts. 
The  Parricide.    Beautifully  Illustrated.    50  cts. 
Life  in  Paris.    Handsomely  Illustrated.     50  cts 
The   Soldier's  Wife.    Illustrated.   50  cents. 
Clifford  and  the  Actress.     Price  Fifty  cent*. 
Edgar  Montrose.    Oua  volume.     Price  25  cents. 
T.    S.   ARTHUR'S    BEST    WORKS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 
The  Lady  at  Home. 
Year  after  Marriage. 
Cecilia    Howard. 
Orphan  Children. 
Love  iu  High  Life. 

Debtor's    Daughter. 
Agnes;   or,  The  Possessed. 
Love  iu  a  Cottage. 
Mary  Moreton. 

The    Divorced    Wife. 
The  Two  Brides. 
Lucy  Sandford. 
The  Banker's  Wife. 
The    Two  Merchants. 
Insubordination. 
Trial  and  Triumph. 
The  Iron  Rule. 

Pride   aud  Prudence. 

Lizzie  Glenn  ;  or,  The  Trials  of  a  Seam 
stress.  By  T.  S.  Arthur.  One  vol.,  cloth,  gilt.  ' 
Price  $1.50,  or  in  two  vols.,  paper  cover,  for  $1.00. 

J.  F.  SMITH'S  WORKS. 

Thomas  Balscomne  ;  or  the  I"  surer'*  Vic 
tim.  One  volume,  octavo.  Price  50  cents. 

Adelaide  Waldgrave?  or  the  Trials  of  a  Go- 
Vi"rup<*.  Ona  volume,  octavo.  Price  50  cents. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  V/orks  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Pottage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


8        T.  B.   PETERSON   &   BROTHERS1   LIST   OP  PUBLICATIONS. 


WAVERLEY  NOVELS. 
T'.ie  Waverley  Novels.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
With  H.  magnificent  Portrait  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  cn- 
p'aved  from  the  hist  Portrait  for  which  ho  ever  sat, 
iit  Abbottsford,  with  his  Autograph  junior  it.  This 
edition  is  complete  in  Five  largo  octavo  volumes,  with 
handsomely  engraved  steel  Title  Pa^es  to  each  vol 
ume,  thu  whole  being  neatly  aud  handsomely  bound 
in  cloth.  This  is  the  cheapest  anil  most  complete  and 
perfect  edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels  published  in 
the  world,  as  it  contains  all  the  Author's  last,  addi 
tions  and  corrections.  Price  Ten  Dollars  a  set.  • 

CHEAP  EDITIOX  IX  PAPER  COVER. 

This  edition  is  published    in  Twenty-Six  volumes, 

paper  cover,  price  thirty-eight  cents  each,  or  the  whole 

twenty-six  volumes,  will  be  sold  or  sent  to  anyone, 

free  of  postage,  for  Eight  Dollars. 

The  /Mowing  are  thrir  names. 
Ivanhoe,  St.  Roiinn's  AVcll, 

Rob  Roy,  R.e-1  Gauntlet, 

Guy  Maiinering,  The  Talisman, 

Tlie  Antiquary,  tYooistoek, 

Old  Mortality,  Highland    Widow, 

Waverley,  Pair   Maid  Perth, 

Kciillworth,  Fortunes  of  Nigel, 

The  Pirate,  Peveril  of  the  Peak, 

The  Monastery,  Q,ueulin  Durward, 

The  Abbo-',  Anne  of  Geiersteiii, 

Tlic  Betrothed,  Moreilmt.    50  cts. 

THe  Heart  of  Mid  Lothian, 
Tlie  Briilc  of  Lammcrmoor, 
Tales  of  a  Grandfather, 

Count  Robert  of  Paris,  [ter, 

Castle  Dangcrou.--,  and  Surgeon   Daugh- 
Black  Owarf  and  Legend  of  Montrosc. 
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C.  J.    PETERSON'S    WORKS. 

Kate    Aylesford.      A   Love  Story.      Two   vols., 

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Cruising  ill  the  Last  War.  By  Charles  .T. 

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HUMOROUS    AMERICAN    WORKS. 

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Major     Jones'     Courtship.      With    Thirteen 

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Drama  in   Pokerville.   By  J.  M.  Field.     \VHh 

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Price  50  cents. 
Charcoal  Sketches.     By  Joseph  C.  Keal.    With 

Illustrations,     price  50  cents. 

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Misfortunes  of    Peter  Falter.  By  Joseph  C. 

Neal.     With  Illustrations  i>y  Darley.     Price  50  cents. 
Major  Jones'  Sketches  of  Travel.     With 

Illustrations,  from  designs  by  Darley.    Price  50  cents. 
Quarter     Race    in    Kentucky.     By  W.  T. 

Porter,  Esq.     With  Illustrations  by  Darley.    50  cents. 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Apprenticeship. 

Illustrated  by  Darley.     Price  Fifty  Outs. 
Yankee     Yarns     and    Yankee     Letter*. 

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Life  and    Adventures    of   Col.    Vander- 

bomb.    By  author  of  "  Wild  Western  Scenes,"  etc. 

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Big   Bear   of   Arkansas.      Eilited  by  Win.  T. 

Porter.     With  Illustrations  by  Darley.     Fifty  cents. 
Major    Jones'    Chronicles  of  Piiicville. 

With  Illustrations  by  Dariey.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Life  and    Adventures    of   Percival   Ma- 

berry.     By  J.  II.  Ingralium.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Frank    Forester's    Quorndon    Hounds. 

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Illustrations  by  Inn-ley.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
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Illustrated.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
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Simon    Suggs. — Adventures   of  Captain 

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New   Orleans    Sketch    Book.      By  "Stalil." 

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T.  B.  PETERSON"  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.          9 


GUSTAVE    AIMARD'S    WORKS. 
The  Prairie  Flower.  One  volume,  octavo,  paper 

cover,  price  50  ceuts,  or  bound  iu  clolU  lor  75  cents. 
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cover,  pi'.c.)  iit\v  ceuts,  or  bouml  in  c.ui'u  lor  <j  t\». 
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cover,  price  tir'iy  cents,  or  bound  ia  cloth  for  75  els. 
Tue  Pirates  oftlie  Prairies.     Cue  vol.,  paper 

cover,  price  00  cents,  or  in  clolli,  for  ".";  ceuts. 
The   Trapper's    Daughter.     One  volume,  oc 
tavo,  paper  cover,  price  tiny  touts. 
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cover.     .Price.  Fifty  cents. 
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c  >ver.     Price  fifty  coats. 

All  of  Aimard's  other  books  are  i»  press  &y  us. 

GEORGE    SAND'S    WORKS. 

Co'isuelo.  By  George  Sand.  Translated  from  the 
F,-eiicb,  by  Fayette  Koblusou.  CN'iuplele  itud  uua- 
b-;db'od.  One  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt.  Tin-  Sequel  to  "Con- 
fu-.ito."  Translated  from  tue  original  i'r.-uch.  Com 
plete  and  unabridged  edition.  1'nce  50  cents. 

First  and  True  Love.  By  author  of  "  Consu- 
elo,"  '-Indiaua,"  etc.  illustrated.  Price  50  cents. 

Tlie  Corsair.      A  Venetian  Tale.     Price  2")  cents. 

Indiana.  By  author  of  "Consiielo,"  etc.  A  very 
bowuchiu;,' aud  interesting  work.  Two  vols.,  paper 
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J.IKBIG'S    WORKS    ON    CHEMISTRY. 

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Animal  Chemistry.     Price    '25  ceuts. 

Familiar   Letters   oil    Chemistry. 

The  Potalo  Disease. 

Chemistry  and   Physics  in  relation  to  Physi 
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?ublished  complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  bound. 
'rice  $:i.OO.     The  three  last  works  are  only  published 
In  tho  bouud  volume. 

HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS. 
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Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmakcr.     By  Judge  Ha- 

lib'irtou.     Illustrated.     One    volume,    cloth,    $1.50; 

or  iu  two  volumes,  paper  cover,  for  $1.00. 
Major    Jones'    Courtship     and    Travels. 

Beautifully  illustrated.    One  vol.,  cloth.    Price  $1.50. 
Major   .Tones'  Scenes  in  Georgia.      Full   of 

beautiful  illustrations.     Oue  vol.,  cloth.     Price  $1.50. 

YaiiUee  Stories.  By  .Tudije  Halihurton.  Two 
V"K,  paper  cover.  Price  $1. 00  ;  or  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travels. 

Illu -crated.     One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.50. 

Humors  of  Fa1conb=-iflj?p.  Two  v>K,  paper 
cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  mo  no  vol.,  cloth,  $1.50. 

Pine/  "Woods  Tavern;  or,  Sam  Slick  In 
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The  Swamp  Doctor's  Adventures  in  the 
So  ifU-AVest.  Co'iMhri:  j;  th"  whole  of  the  Lonis- 
i-i'vi  Swamp  Doctor  ;  Streaks  of  Squatter  I-ifo  :  and 
Far- Wn-itei-Li  Scenes.  With  1 1  lllu^lratious  from  de- 
si  /rn  by  Barley.  Cloth.  Pric?  $1  .'A 

Mnjoi-  Thorpe's    Scenes    in     Avkansaw: 

Outlining  t!ie  whMo  of  the  "Quarter  Race  in  Ken 
tucky,"  and"  B>b  Herri n if,  tlie  Arkansas  Bear  Hun 
ter."  t.)  which  is  added  the  "Drama  in  Pokcrville." 
Wt'i  S'xt'eti  illustration-:  from  T»p-<ii."i«  V-y  Davlcy. 
Co:u(i'<jt<i  iu  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

The  Hlg  Rear's  Adventures  and  Tra 
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li.il  De^iirns  by  Darley.  One  vol..  bound.  Price  *•]  .50. 

Kr.-X;iji  Forester's  Sporting  Scenes  mid 
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GEORGE     LIPPARD'S     \VORKS. 
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The  Quaker  City  5  or,  The  Monks  of  JTonk  Hall. 

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ADVENTURES   AND  TRAVELS. 
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treat.     Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth.  $1.50. 
Don     Qntxotte. — Life     and     Adventures 

of   Don   Qulxotte  ;     and    las   Squire,   Saucho 

Panza.     Two  vols,  paper  cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in 

one  volume,  clo;h,  tor  $1.50. 
L.ife  <fc  Adventures  of  Paul  Periwinkle. 

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The  Soldier's  Companion.  With  valuable 
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Ellsworth's  "  Zouave  Drill"  and  Biogra 
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The  Volunteers'  Text  Book.  This  Work 
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The  United  States' Li^ht  fnf'iitry  Drill. 
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U.  S.  Government  Infttn'ry  and  Rifle 
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10        T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS, 


D'ISRAELI'S     POPULAR     NOVELS. 

With  a  Portrait  of  D' Israeli  in  each  volume. 

Vivian  Grey.  Comploto  in  ono  largo  volume, 
octavo.  Trice  Fifty  c«;uts. 

Veiicfin  ;  or,  Lord  Byron  and  his  Daughter.  Com 
plete  in  oue  l»rgo  volume.  Price  Fifty  coats. 

Henrietta  Temple.  A  Love  Story.  Complete 
in  one  large  volume.  Price  Fifty  cents. 

Miriam  Alroy.  A  Romance  of  the  12th  Century. 
Price  50  cents. 

The  Young  Duke.    Price  Fifty  corit*. 

Contarini   Fleming.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

WORKS  BY  CELEBRATED  AUTHORS 

Price  Tioenty-Five  Cents  each. 

Female  Life  In   New   York.    Illustrated. 

Mysteries  of  Bedlam;  or,  Annals  of  Mad  House. 

Mysteries  of  a  Convent.  By  a  Noted  Metho 
dist  Preacher. 

The  Monk.     By  Matthew  O.  Lewis. 

American  Joe  Miller.    With  100  Illustrations. 

The   Mysterious    Marriage. 

.Taclc  Downtng's  Letters.  By  Major  Jack 
Dow  ning. 

Perils  of  English  Prisoners.    By  Dickens. 

The  Two  Apprentices.     IV  Dickons. 

Hose  \Varrington.     By  A.  J.  II.  Dnpaune. 

Beautiful  French  Girl.     An  absorbing  book. 

Ella  Stratford;  or,  the  Orphan  Child. 
By  Countess  Blessington. 

Ghost  Stories.    A  Wonderful  Book.     Illustrated. 

Madison's  Exposition  of  Odd  Fellow 
ship.  Full  of  Illustrations. 

Abeduego,  the  Money  Lender.  By  Mrs.  Gore. 

Gliddom's  Ancient  Egypt,  her  Monuments, 
Hieroglyphics,  Relics,  &c. 

Josephine.     By  author  of  "  Home  Influence." 

Bell  Brandon,  and  the  Withered  Fig  Tree.  A 
$300  prize  novel. 

The  Emigrant  Squire.  By  author  of  "Bell 
Brandon." 

Philip  in  Search  of  a  Wife. 

Diary  of  a  Physician.    Second  Series. 

Sybil  Grey.    A  Romance  of  the  Opera. 

Agnes  Grey.    By  author  of  "Jane  Eyre." 

Christmas  Carols.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Jenny  Ambrose,  or  Life  in  the  Eastern  States. 

Rody  the  Rover.    A  Tale  of  Ireland. 

The  Admiral's  Daughter.    By  Mrs.  Marsh. 

The  Courtier.    By  Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer. 

Southern  Chivalry. 

A  House  to  Let.     By  Charles  Dickens. 

Hard  Times.     By  Charles  Dickon*. 

Seven  Poor  Travellers.    By  Dickens. 

Uncommercial  Traveller.  By  ('has.  Dickens. 

Captain  Jorgan.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

Tales  and  Stories.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

llipt on  Ramsey.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

The  Child's  Story.     By  Charles  Dickens. 

Hunted  Down.     By  Charles  Dickens. 

Our  Parish.     By  Charles  Dickeus. 

Dattle  of  Life.     By  Charles  Dickon*. 

A  Christmas  Ghost  Story.     By  Dickens. 

Out  of  Town.     By  Charles  Dickons. 

T2ie  Detective  Police.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

The  Guest.     By  Churl**  Dickon*. 

Th«  Boarding  House.    By  Charles  Dickens. 

I>Inreto;>  Hall,  or  the  Spirits  of  a  Haunted  House. 

Uncle  Tom  in  England. 


BY    VARIOUS    GOOD    AUTHORS. 

Somebody's  Luggage.  By  Charles  Dickens. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Two  Prima  Donnas.  By  George  Augus 
tus  Salii.  Price  -•>  cents. 

The  Haunted  House.  By  Charles  Dickens. 
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The  Deformed.     By  Mr*.  Marsh.     25  cents. 

The  Iron  Cross.     By  fciylvauus  Cobb,  Jr.     25  cu. 

The  Nobleman's  Daughter.     Price  25  cents. 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground.     Price  2>  cents. 

Father  Tom  and  the  Pope.    Price  25  cents. 

Webster  and  Hayiie'M  Speeches  in  the 
United  Status  Senate,  on  Mr.  Foot's  lie-solution  of 
January,  1830.  Also,  Daniel  Webster's  Speech  in 
the  Senate  of  the  United  States,  March  7,  1S50,  on 
the  Slavery  Compromise.  Price  25  cents. 

Train's  Union  Speeches.  Complete  in  two 
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Robert  Oaklands  ;  or,  The  Outcast  Orphan.  By 
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etc.  Price  25  cents. 

Rifle  Shots  at  the  Great  Men.  Price  25  cents. 
AINSWORTH'S  BEST  AVORKS. 

Life  of  Jack  Shcppard,  the  most  uoted  burglar, 
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Price  50  cents. 

The  Tower  of  London.  With  over  One  Hun 
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The  Miser's  Daughter.  Complete  in  two 
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Pictorial  Life  nnd  Adventures  of  Guy 
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The  Pictorial  Old  St.  Pawl's.  A  Tale  of 
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Pictorial  Newgate  Calendar;  or, Chronicle* 
of  Crime.  Beautifully  Illustrated.  Price  50  cents.  . 

The  Star  Chamber.  Beautifully  Illustrated. 
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Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  Queen 
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\Vindsor  Castle.      Ono  volume.    Price  50  cents. 

Life  of  Hetfry  Thomas,  the  Western  Burglar 
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Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Dick 
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Life  and  Adventures  of  the  Despera 
does  of  the  New  "World.  Price  25  cents. 

Life  of  Ninon  DC  L'Endos.  With  her  Let 
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Grace  O'Malley — Her  Life  and  Adven 
tures.  Price  50  cents. 

Life   of  Arthur   Spring.    Price  25  cents. 

REV.    C.    WADSVi'ORTH'S   SERMONS. 

America's  Mission.  A  Thanksgiving  Discourse. 
By  Rev.  Charles  Wadsworth.  Price  25  cents. 

Thankfulness  and  Character.  Two  Dis 
courses.  By  Rev.  Charles  Wadsworth.  Price  25  cts. 

Politics  in  Religion.  A  Thanksgiving  Sermon. 
By  Rer.  Charles  Wadsworth.  Price  12>£  cents. 

Thanksgiving.  A  Sermon.  By  Charles  Wads- 
worth.  Price  12)»  cents. 

HARRY    COCKTON'S    WORKS. 

Valentine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist.     One 

yolume,  paper  cover.  Price  50  ceuts ;  or  a  flner  edition 
in  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

Sylvester  Sonnd,  the  Somnambulist. 
Illustrated.  One  volume.  Price  50  cents. 

The  Sisters.  By  Henry  Cockton,  author  of  "Val 
entine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist."  Price  50  cenU. 

The  Steward.    By  Henry  Cockton.    Price  50  conts. 

Percy  Effingham.     By  Henry  Cockton.    60  cts. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


T.  2.  PETERSON  &   BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.        it 


HIGHWAYMEN,     MURDERERS,     etc. 

Price  Tioenty-Five  Cents  each. 

Life   of    John    A.  Murrel,    the  Great  Western 

LinJ  I'irate. 

LitY  and  Adventures  of  Joseph  T.  Hare. 
L  i  f <  of  Col.  Mouro;1  JLi>I  \>iii<ls.  lihiAU'attid. 
Life  of  Helen  Jewett,  and  Richard  P. 

Robinson. 

Life  and   Adventures   of  Jack.  Kami. 
KH    Clayton.     A  Sequel  to  Jack  Kami. 
The  Robber'n   \Vrife.     A  Domestic  Romance. 
Mysteries  ami  Miseries  of  New  Orleans. 
Obi;   or.  Three    Fingered  Jack. 
Lives  of  the  Felon*.     Illustrated. 
Tom  Waters  ;   or,  The  Haunted  Highwayman. 
Nat  Blake  ;  or,  The  Doomed  Highwayman. 
Galloping  Gusi  ;   or,  The  Purse  and  the  Pistol. 
Ned  Hasting*;  or,  The  Terror  of   tho  Road. 
Biddy  Wood  hull,  the  Beautiful  Haymaker. 
Bill  Hurt  on;  or,  The  Doomed  Highwayman. 
E  veleen     Wilson  5   or,  Trials  of  an  Orphan  Girl. 
The  Diary  of  a   Pawnbroker.     Illustrated. 
Silver  and  Pewter;  or,  Life  in  New  York. 
Sweeny  Todd  ;    or  the  Ruffian  Barbor. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jonathan  Wild. 
Life  of  Jack  Ketch,  the  Mnrderor. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Mary  Batemaii. 
Life  of  Mother  Browurigg,  and  Adventures. 
Life  of  Uaoiil  De  Surville. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Rody  the  Rover. 
Life  and   Adventures  of  Arthur  Spring. 
Life   of   Captain    Blood,  and   the  Hangman's 

Daughter. 

Captain  Blond  and  the  Beagles. 
Life  of  Dick  Parker,  the  Mutineer. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Henry  Thomas. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Dick  Tnrpiit. 
The  Desperadoes  of  the  New  \Vorld. 
The  Life  of  Ninon  De  L'Eiiclos. 
Life  of  Galloping  Dick,  the  Highwayman. 
S3xteen-St  ringed  Jack  and  His  Pals  ;  or, 

the  Highwayman's  Captive. 

Stxteen-Stringed  Jack's  Fight  for  Life. 
The   Highwayman's   Avenger  j    or,  the  Es- 

c.ipa  of  Sixtemi-Stringad  Jack. 
Life  of  Frank  Smith,  the  Ghost  Murderer. 
Life  and  Ad  ventures  of  Dick  Patch. 
Life  of  Jack  Bellingham,  the  Murderer. 
Life  of  Joe  Blackburn,  the  Noted  Forger. 
Life  of  Bill  Corder,  executed  for  Murder. 
Life  of  Bill  Burk,  the  Noted  Murderer. 
The  Five  Pirates. 

Life  of  Jack  Halloway,  the  Wife  Murderer. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Bishop. 
Life  of  James  Cook,  the  Murdorer. 
Life  of  Jim  Greenacre,  tho  Murderer. 
Tom  and  Jim  Berryman,  the  Noted  Burglars. 
The  Banditti  of  the  Prairie.    Price  50  cents. 
Life  of  Jack  Sheppard.     Price  50  cents. 
Life  of  Davy  Crockett.    Prico  50  cents. 
Life  of  Grace    O'Malley.    Price  50  cents. 
Life  of  Guy  Fawkes.    Price  50  cents. 
Adventures  of  Ned  Musgrave.  Price  50  cts. 
Life  of  Colonel  Vanderbomb.  Price  50  cents. 
Life    and  Adventures   of  Wilfred  Mon- 

tressor.   With  87  engravings.    2  vols.,  price  $1.00. 
Memoirs     of    Vidocq,    Principal  Agent  of  the 

French.  Police,  two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00 ;  or  cloth,  $1.50. 


REVOLUTIONARY     TALES. 

Price    Twenty-Five  Cents  each. 

The    Seven    Brothers    of  "Wyoming;   or, 

Tho  Brigands  of  the  American  Revolution. 
The  Brigand  5  or,  Tho  Mountain  Chief. 
The   tie  tie  i   liiiiie.     A  Revolutionary  Romance. 
Ralph  Ruitnioit;  or,  Tho  Outlaw's  Doom. 
The  Flying  Artillerist,  or  Mexican  Treachery. 
Old  Put;  or,  The  Days  of '76.    A  Revolutionary  Tale. 
Wau-itau-gee  ;  or,  The  Massacre  at  Chicago. 
Legends  of  Mexico.     By  George  Lippard. 
Grace   Dudley;   or   Arnold  at  Saratoga. 
The  Guerilla  Chief.   A  Romance  of  War.  SOcts. 
Red  Sleeve,  the  Apache  Chief.     Price  50  cents. 
The  Quaker  Soldier.    Two  vols.     Price  $1.00. 

SEA    AND    PIRATICAL     TALES. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Adams,  tho 

celebrated  Sailor  and  Mutineer.     Prico  50  cents. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Ben   Brace,  the 

Sailor.     Price  50  cents. 
The  Petrel ;   or,  Love  on  the  Ocean.     A  Sea  Novel. 

By  Admiral  Fisher.     One  volume.     Price  50  cents. 
Jack   Ariel ;   or,  Life  on  Board  an  East  Indiaman. 

One  TO!.,  octavo.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Tom  Bowling, 

the  Sailor.    One  volume.     Price  50  cents. 
Cruising  in  the  Last  War.  Price  50  cents. 
Percy  Emiigham.    Price  50  cents. 
Percival  Keene.    Price  50 cents. 
The  Sea  If  ing.    Price  50  cents. 
Peter  Simple.    Price  50  cents. 
Poor  Jack.     Price  50  cents. 

SEA  TALES,  AT  35  CENTS  EACH. 
The  Doomed  Snip;  or,  Wreck  of  Arctic  Regions. 
The  Pirate's   Son.    Illustrated. 
The  Three  Pirates  ;  or,  Cruise  of  the  Tornado. 
The  Flying  Dutchman. 
Life   of   Alexander    Tardy,   the    Pirate. 
The  Flying  Yankee.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
The    Yankee   Middy  ;   or,  The  Two  Frigates. 
The  Gold  Seekers  s  or,  Crnis*  of  the  Lively  Sally. 
The     River     Pirates.     A  Tale  of  New  York. 
Dark    Shades   of  City  Life. 
Rats  of  the  Seine  ;   or,  River  Thieves  of  Paris. 
Yankees  in  Japan  ;   or,  Adventures  of  a  Sailor. 
Red    King  ;    or,  The  Corsair  Chieftain. 
Morgan,  the  Buccaneer  ;  or,  The  Freebooters. , 
Jack  Junk  ;  or,  The  Tar  for  all  Weathers. 
Davis,  the  Pirate;  or,  Freebooter  of  the  Pacific. 
Valdez,   the   Pirate  ;  His  Life  and  Adventures. 
Gallant  Tom  ;  or,  The  Perils  of  the  Ocean. 
Yankee  Jack ;  or,  The  Perils  of  a  Privateersman. 
Harry  Helm  ;  or,  Tho  Cruise  of  the  Bloodhound. 
Harry  Tempest ;  or,  The  Pirate's  Protege. 
The  King's  Cruisers.    By  Harry  Hazel. 
Charles  Ransford  ;  or,  Love  on  Board  a  Cruiser. 
Red  AVing  ;   or,  Cruiser  of  Van  Dieman's  Land. 
The  Pacha  of  Many  Tales. 
The  Pirate  and  Three  Cutter*. 
The  Man-of-War's-Man. 
Rebel  and  the  Rover. 

Jacob  Faithful.  Midshipman  Easy. 

Phantom  Ship.  The  Naval  Officer. 

King's  Own.  Newton  Forster. 

Snarleyow.  Our  Mess. 

Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary. 
Wild  Oats   Sown   Abroad;    or,   On  and   Off 

Sounding*.     60  cts.  in  paper;  or  in  cloth  gilt  7.5  cts. 


Copies  of  any  of  tho  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


12       T.  B.  PETERSON    &  BROTHERS1   LIST   OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


WORK-TABLE,  EMBROIDERY,  etc. 

The  Lady's  Work-Table  Rook.  Full  of 
l^.ites.  lio'uud  iu  ci'inisou  clotU,  gilt.  1'rico  $1.00. 

T"><-  Ladies'  Complete  Guide  to  Nee«Ue- 
•\»  ork  <fc  Embroidery.  The  best  work  ou  tms 
subject  ever  published.  Cloth.  Price  £1.00. 

V.'ORKS    BY    POPULAR.    AUTHORS. 

Lady  Maud,  the  Wonder  of  Kingswood 

C    .;»*<.     By  Pierce  Egau.     Price  70  cents  in  paper  ; 

01-  a  finer  edition,  bound,  for $1.00. 
Mysteries    of    Three    Cliies:     Boston,   Xew 

1'ork,  uud  Philadelphia.     By  A.  J.  II.  Duganmi.     One 

volume.     Price  50  cents. 

lied  Indians  of  Newfoundland.  A  beauti 
fully  Illustrated  Indian  Story.  By  author  of  "Prairie 

Kin."     Price  50  ceuts. 
Whitehall;    or,   The  Times  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

Complete  in  ouo  volume.     Illustrated.      Price  50  cts. 
Tlxe  Greatest  Plague  of  Life  ;  or,  The  Adven 
tures  of  a  Lady  iu  Search  of  u  Good  Servant.     By  one 

who  lias  been  "almost  worried  to  death."     50  cents. 
<  orinne;    or,     Italy.      By    Madame   T>e    Stael. 

T'.ij  poetical  pu,>sa0'cs  by  L.  E.  L.     Pr.co  Fifty  cuuts_ 
Iloi-fdun.     A  Tale   of  1210.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Bart.,  author  of  "  ivanhoc,"  etc.     i'r.co  00  cents. 
I'lii-.uiioiis  ill  America;  or,  High  Life  in  Kew 

Y-.-rk.     Complete  in  one  volume.     Price  00  cents. 
Life  In  tlie  South.    An  Antidote  to  "Uncle  Tom's 

Cabin."  With  Illustrations  by  Dariey.  Price  00  cents. 
T.lorente's  History  of  tlie  Inquisition  iu 

;*jta  i  i».     Complete  in  one  volume.     Price  00  cents. 
Gciievra.     By  Miss  Fairficld.     Price  50  ceuts. 
Sal.ithicl.     By  Kev.  George  Croly.     Price  50  cents. 
Aristocracy;- ;  or,  Life  among  the  Upper  Ten.    By 

Joseph  A.  Auues,  Esq.     Price  00  cents. 
Tom    Racquet;    and    His  Three   Maiden  Aunts. 

Full  of  illustrative  engravings.     Price  50  cents. 
The  Two  Lovers  ;  or  a  Sister's  Devotion.     A  Do- 

ini.'.-tic  f-tory.    By  author  of  Twin  Sisters.     Price  00  cts. 
Sketches    In    Ireland.     By  W.  M.  Thackeray, 

author  of  "Vanity  Fair."     Price  50  cents. 

Tlic  Coquette.  By  the  author  of  "•Mis«erimus." 
One  of  the  best  books  ever  written.  Price  50  cents. 

Tlie  Fortune  Hunter.  By  Mrs.  Anna  CoraMow- 

att.    Price  Fifty  cents. 
Ned  Musgrave  ;  or.  tho  Most  Unfortunate  Man  in 

the  World.     By  Theodore  Hook.     Price  00  cents. 
Clifford  and  tlie  Actress;  or  the  Reigning  Fa 
vorite.     By  Margaret  Blount.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Tlie    .Jesuit's  Daughter.     By   Ked    Buutliue. 

One  volume,  octavo.     Price  00  ceuts. 
•Ryan's   Mysteries   of   Marriage.      Full   of 

Illustrations.     Price  50  cents. 
Tile  Orphan   Sisters.     By   Mrs.  Marsh,  author 

of  •'  The  Deformed."     Price  00" rents. 
Romish  Confessional.      By  M.  Michelct.     One 

volume.     Price  50  ceuts. 
ATjey    of   Iiinismoylc.     By   Grace  Kennedy, 

author  of  "  Father  Clement. "     Price  20  cents. 
Father    Clement.     By   author  of   "  Dunallen." 

Price  00  cents  iu  paper,  or  70  cents  in  cloth. 
'WHfrcd    Moutressor;    or,  the  Secret  Order  of 

th'-  Seven.     A  Komanco  of   Life   in    the    New   York 

Metropolis.       Illustrated  with  ?7   Illustrative   Eni.'ra- 

vin-rs.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar. 
Ti.e     Cabin     and    Parlor.      By   J.   Thornton 

Kandolph.     50  cents  in  paper  ;  or  in  cloth  for  $1.00. 

T!te  Pride  of  Life.    By  author  of   "Henpecked 

H.i-b;«:id."     Two  voluui"s,   pajwr.    Price   $1.00;  or 

in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.30. 
•Henry    Clay's    Portrait.     By  Xaglo.      Size  22 

by  :;o  in.    Pr'x'e*!  .00  a  copy.    Originally  sold  at  $0.00. 
The  Miser's  Heir.       By  P.  IT.  Myeix.     Price  50 

ceuts  in  paper  cover  ;  or  70  cents  iu  cloth,  gilt. 
Vic*  1ms  of   Amusement*.     By  Martha  Clark. 

Suitable  for  Sunday  Schools.     One  vol.,  cloth.    .SScts. 


SIR    E.    L.    BULWER'S     NOVELS. 

Falkland.  A  Novel.  One  vol.,  octavo.  20  cents. 
The  Roue  ;  or,  The  Hazards  of  Women.  25  cents. 
The  Oxonians.  A  Sequel  to  "  The  Hone."  20cts. 
Citldci'Oii,  tlie  Courtier.  Byliulwer.  l.*£  cu. 
LANGUAGES  "WITHOUT  A  MASTER. 

Price  Ttcffitty-Fiee  <'<  nix  i.m-li. 
French    trlthout     a    Master.     In   Six   Easy 

I.rSSODS.  4| 

Kim  uisii    ^vithout    a    Master.     In  Four  Easy 

German  tvlthout  a  Master.  In  Six  Easy 
Lessons. 

Italian  without  a  Master.  In  Five  Ea^y 
Lessons. 

Latin  without  a  Master.  Iu  Six  Easy  Lessons. 
Tiio  whole  are  also  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.00. 

SMOLLETT'S  GREAT  WORKS. 

Peregrine   Pickle;    and   His  Adventures.     Two 

volumes,  octavo.     Price  One  Dollar. 
Humphrey  Clinker.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Roderick  Random.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
Ferdinand  Count  Fathom.  Price  Fifty  cents. 
Sir  Launcelot  Greaves.    Price  25  cents. 

HENRY    FIELDING'S  "WORKS. 
Tom  Jones.     Two  volumes.     Price  One  Dollar. 
Amelia.     On ••  volume.     Price  Fifty  ceuts. 
Joseph  Andrews.    Price  Fifty  cents 
Jonathan  Wild.     Price  25  cents. 
CHRISTY    &    WOOD'S    SONG    BOOKS. 

No  music  is  so  generally  esteemed,  or  songs  so  fre 
quently  sniiir  and  listened  to  with  so  much  delight,  as 
is  the  music  and  the  songs  of  the  Ethiopian  Minstrels. 
They  have  commenced  a  new  epoch  in  Music,  and  tho 
best  works  relating  to  them  are  those  mentioned  below. 
Each  Book  contains  near  Seventy  Songs. 

Christy  <fc  Wood's  IVcw  SoiigBook.  Illus 
trated.  Price  12'£  cents. 

TJie  Melodcoii  Song  Book.    Pi-ice  12V£  cents. 

The.  Plantation  Melodies.     Price  12!^  cents. 

The  Ethiopian  Foiig  Book.    Price  12'^ cents. 

The  Sereiindcrs'  Song  Book.     Price  12^  cts. 

Buds\vorth's  Songs.     Price  12)£  cents. 

Christy  and  White's  Complete  Ethio 
pian  Melodies,  containing  291  songs,  and  beau 
tifully  bound  in  ouo  volume,  cloth,  gilt.  Price$1.00. 

USEFUL  BOOKS    FOR    EVERYBODY. 

Lardiier's  One  Thousand  and  Ten 
Tilings  "Worth  Knowing;  to  which  is 
added  Employment  to  All  ;  or  a  Hundred  Ways  to 
make  and  keep  Money.  Price  20  cents. 

Gentlemen's  Science  of  Etiquette;  and 
liiiide  to  Society.  By  Count  D'Orsay.  With  his  Por 
trait.  Price  20  cents. 

Ladles'  Science  of  Etiquette;  and  complete 
Hand  Book  of  tho  Toilet.  By  Countess  De  Calahieila. 
Price  20  cents. 

The  Complete  Kitchen  and  Fruit  Gar 
dener.  A  work  that  all  that  have  a  g.udcu  should 
own.  Price  20  cents. 

The  Complete  Florist;  or,  Flower  Gar 
dener.  The  best  work  on  the  subject  ever  pub 
lished.  Price  20  cents. 

Kiiowlson's  Complete  Farrier,  or  Horse 
Doctor.  All  that  own  a  horse  should  possess  this 
book.  Price  20  ceuts. 

Kiiowlson's  Complete  Cattle,  or  Cow 
Doctor.  Whoever  owns  a  cow  should  have  this 
book.  Price  20  cents. 

Pocket  Library  of  Useful  Knowledge. 
A  work  that  all  should  own.  Price  50  cents. 

Arthur's  Receipts  for  Putting  up  Fruits 
and  Vegetables  in  Summer  to  Keep. 
Price  12>i  rents. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Y/orks  will  ba  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS.        13 


•WORKS  BY    BEST    AUTHORS. 

•WiUlSoutIieruSceii.es.  By  author  of  "Wild 
Western  scenes."  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  1'rico 
One  Dollar;  or  iu  oue  volume,  cloth,  tor  $1.  JO. 

The  Physical  History  of  I  lie  Creation  of 
tlit  Earth  mul  its  Inhnbtt  aiif  s.  A  <  <-m- 
puiioii  to  Lyell'a  Anlinuiiy  of  Mau.  By  Eli  Boweu, 
Ksq  ,  Profe-sor  of  Oeojogy.  Complete  iu  cue  large 
duodecimo  volume.  Price,  $1.  JO. 

The  Q,uaker  Soldier;  or,  The  EritlsU  In 
Philadelphia.  By  Col  .1.  Kichter  J  .>:ies.  .  1  \vo 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Prico  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.00. 

Currcr  Lyle  ;  or,  The  Autobiogrnp'iy  of 
an  Actress.  By  Louise  Herder.  Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  iu  cloth,  $1..JO. 

THc  Roman  Traitor.  By  II.  W.  Herbert  Two 
volumes,  paper.  Price  #1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  £1  .-"'0. 

Life  and  Beauties  of  Fanny  Fern.  Two 
volumes,  paper,  price  41.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  for  $1.00. 

Woiileltli's  Frcncli,  German,  Spanish, 
Latin  and  Italian  Languages  without 
a  Master.  Oue  volume,  cloth,  pnce  $1.30. 

Secession, Coercion  and  Civil  War.  A  Pro 
phecy  of  die  southern  Itebelliou.  Oue  vol.,  cloth, $1,.JU. 

Lola  Montez'  Lectures  and  Life.  Two  v»]s., 
paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  *l.fjO. 

Liebig's  Complete  \Vorks  on  Chemistry. 
One  volume,  cloth.  Price  $-.00. 

The  Works  of  Captain  Marryatt.  Com 
plete  in  oue  royal  octavo  volume,  bound.  Price  $3.00. 

The  Laws  and  Practice  of  the  Game  of 
E«chr«-.  By  a  Professor,,  This  is  the  only  rer..<.'- 
ni/.ivl  book  on'  the  subject  published  in  tlie  world. 
Complete  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  price  7.3  cents. 

Dickens'  Short  Stories.  By  Charles  Dickens. 
Oue  volume.  12nio.  Price  $1.2-0. 

Message  from  the  Sea.  T!y  Charles  Dickens. 
One  volume,  12mo.  Price  $l.C». 

Lives  of  Jack  Sheppard  and  Gny 
Fawkes.  Illustrated.  One  volume,  cloth,  $1.3O. 

The  Afternoon  of  Unmarried  Tjife.  A 
Charming  Novel.  Oue  vol.,  cloth.  Price  Sl.ii. 

Geu.  Scot.t's  $3.OO  Portrait.  Price  One  Hollar. 
NEW  YORK  MERCURY  STOHIES. 

Each  book  contains  Illustrative  Engravings  by  Darley. 
Price  '25  Cants  e/icli. 

Saul  Sabberday,  Rift  and  Spray 

Sea  \Vaif,  Morgan, 

White  Wizard,  Sworflmaker  Santec, 

Man-o'-War-Man's     Shell-Hunter, 


Grudge, 
Stella  Delorme, 
Luona  Prescott, 
Our  Mess, 
Thayendanega, 
Elfrida, 
Pathaway, 
English  Tom, 
Meli>omene  Serf, 
Nightshade, 


Golden  Feather, 
Scot  to,  the  Scout, 
Death  Mystery, 
The  Owlet, 
Catholina. 
Conspirators. 
Hilliare  Henderson, 
Whltelnw, 
Silver  Star— ."if>. 
Sybil  Campbell— 50. 
EXCELLENT     SHILLING    BOOKS. 
Price  12'  $  cmls  each,  or   Ten  fur  $1.00. 

Throne  of   Iniquity.     By  Key.  Albert  Barnes. 

Woman.     By  Lucretia  Mott,  the  Quaker  Preacher. 

Euchre. — Game  of  Euchre  and  its  Laws. 

Dr.  Berg's    Answer   to  Uis!»<>]>  Hughes. 

Dr.    Berg's  Lecture  on  the  Jesuits. 

Life  of  the  Rev.  John  X.  Maflit. 

Odd-Fellowship  Exposed.     Illustrated. 

Exposition  of  the  Sons  of  Malta. 

Mormoiitsm    Exposed.      Full  of  Kau-rivi  tiers. 

Train    on    the     Downfall    of     England, 

and  Arclibis'.iop  Hughes  on   tl  e  War  in  Aim-lira 
Train  on  Slavery  and  Emaiiei palion. 
Henry     Ward      Beeclier  on      War      mid 

Emancipation. 

Rev.  Wm.  T.  Brnntley's  Union  Sermon. 
The  Sleeping  Sentinel.    Price  Ten  cents. 


WORKS     IN     PRESS    BY   THE    BEST 

AUTHORS. 
Ernest  Lliiwood.     By  Mrs  Caroline  Lee  Ileniz. 

Complete  in  two  volumes,  paper  coy.  r.     Price   One 

Doll  it  r  ;  or  in  one  volume,  chilli,  for  *l.."jO. 
Mabel  5    or,    Darkness  ini'l    Dawn.      l?y  Charles  .1. 

I'eiersuu.     Complete  iu  two  volumes,  paper  cove:-, 

Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  *1  .">0. 
Life  a  ml  Adventures  of  Fudge  Fumble. 

I'l'icu  i\iiy  cents. 
LiTe  a-  d  Adventures  of  Tom  Bo-vvling. 

A  Sea  Tale.     Oue  volume.      J'rice  M  cenis. 
The  Tiger  Slayer.     By  Gustave  Aimard.     Olio 

volume,  octavo,  paper  cover.     Price  Fifty  cents. 
The  Gold   Seekers.     By  Gustavo  Aimard.     Ona 

volume,  octavo,  paper  cover.     Price  Fil'ty  cents. 
All  of  Aiintn-d'iS  othtr  ltn,l;x  are  in  'press  by  us. 
The  Che- alier.    By  Alexander  Dninas.    A  sequel 

lo  and  continuation  of  "  Audree  De  Tavernay.     One 

Volume,  octavo.     Price  7.J  ceul.s. 
The  American  Pocket-Library  of  Useful 

K.IIOM  leilge.      A   work   that  everybody  should, 

own.     Price  Fifty  Cents. 
Whltefriars;  or,  the  Days  of  Charles  tlie  Second. 

Illustrated  by  Chapiu.     Price  JO  cents. 
Madame   Rachel's    Travels  in   tlie   New 

'World.   Translated  from  tlie  French  of  Leon  Beaii- 

vallel.     Two  vols  ,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  $1.2"). 
The  K.  N.  Pepper  Papers  5  and  other  st»ri.  .-s 

put  uj>  for  general  use.     By  Jacques  Maurice.     Com 
plete  in  two  vols,  paper.     Price  $1.00;  or  iu  ouo 

vol.,  cloth,  $1.2.0. 
The   Jesuit's   Daughter.     By  Ned   Buntline. 

One  volume,  octavo.     Price  JO  cents. 
The  Fnllen  Angel.     By  Alexander  Duma's.     A 

Story  of  Lile  in  Paris.     One  volume.     Price  50  cent-. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Ned  Musgravo  ; 

or,  the  Most  Unfortunate  Man   in  the   World.     By 

Theodore  Hook.     Price  uO  cants. 
FOLLOWING      ARE     TWENTY-FIVK 

CENT   BOOKS. 

Moreton  Hall;  or,  the  Spirit  of  a  Haunted  House. 
Jenny   Ambrose  ;  or,  Life  iu  the  Eastern  States. 
Uncle  Tom  In  England. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Rody  the  Rover. 
The   Admiral's  Daughter.     By  Mrs.  Blar.-a. 
The  Deformed.     By  Mrs.  Marsh. 
Life  of  Galloping  Dick,  the  Highwayman. 
Sixteen-Stringed  Jark  and  his  Pals  5  or, 

the  Highwayman's  Captive. 

Sixtcen-Striiigcd  Jack's  Fight  for  Life. 
Tlie  Highwayman's  Avenger  5  or,  the  Es 
cape  of  o'ixteeu-otriuged  Jack. 

Life   of  Frank  Smith,  the  Ghost  Murderer 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Dick   Patch. 
Life  of  Jack  Bellingham,  the  Murderer. 
Life  of  Joe  Blackburn,  the  Noted  Forger. 
Life  of  Bill  Corder,  executed  for  Murder. 
Life  of  Bill  Burk,  the  Noted  Murderer. 
The  Five  Pirate?. 

Life  of  Jack  TIalloway,  the  Wife  Murderer. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Bishop. 
Life  of  James  Cook,   the  Murderer. 
Life  of  Jim  Greenucre,  the  Murderer. 
Tom  and  Jim  Berryman,  the  Noted  Burglars. 
The  Old  Astrologer.     By  T.  S.  Arthur. 
A  House  to  Let.     By  Charles  Dickeus. 
Hard   Times.     By  Charles  Dickens. 
Seven  Poor  Travelers.     By  Dickens. 
Uncommercial  Traveler.     By  Chas.  Dickens. 
Cnptnin  Jorgaii.     By  Charles  Dickens. 
Tales  and  Stories.     By  Charles  Dickens. 
Ri5>lou  Rumsey.     By  Charles  Dickens. 
The  Child's  Story.     By  Charles  Dickens. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


14     T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'   LIST  OF  BOOKS   IN  PRESS. 


WORKS    IN    PRESS     BY    THE    BEST 

ALT  11OUS. 
Wciilock;   or,   Two   "Ways  to  Marry.    A 

i-toiy  of  .Now  York  Life.  Printed  from  the  Home 
J.rifiiiil.  Two  vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  ia 
cloth,  $1-25. 

t'nmarried  Life.  A  Companion  to  "  Woman's 
T  .  .lights  ab.iiu  \\'oiiicu,"  by  ili«  author  of  "John 
Halifax,  Geutloman."  Two  Tulumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  ouo  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Tile  Bnchrlor.  Aa  Autobiography  of  an  OKI 
Man's  History.  I5y  autlior  <if  "Joint  Drayton." 
Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  one  vol., 
cloth,  for  $1.23. 

The  Coquette;  or,  The  History  of  Eliza 
WHarton.  A  novel,  founded  on  fact.  By  a  lady 
of  Massachusetts.  With  a  Historical  Preface,  and  a 
memoir  of  the  author.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00;  or 
in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  False  Lovers.  By  (5eorgo  Sand,  author 
of  "Cousuelo,"  "  Countess  of  Rudolstadt."  etc.  Two 
vols.,  paper.  Price  $1.00;  or  oue  vol.,  cloth,  £1.25. 

The  OLD  VICARAGE.  By  Mrs.  Huhhack, 
author  of  "  The  Wife's  Sister,"  etc.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Saratoga.  An  Historical  novel  of  American  Life 
and  Manners  during  the  Involution.  Two  vols., 
puper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume, 
cloth,  $1.2-5. 

The  Bohemians  in  London.     By  Edward  M. 

Whitty,  EM[.,  Member  of  Parliament.    Two  volumes, 

paper  cover.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.2.5. 
The  Devoted  Bride;  or,  The  Rehel  Lover. 

A  Tale  of  Bacou's  Kebellion.     By  St.  George  Tucker. 

Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price$1.00;  oriu  cloth,  $1.2.7. 
Following    the    Drum.      By    Mrs.    Brigadier 

Con.  Egbert  L.  Yielc.     Oue  volume,  illustrated  cover 

in  colors.     Pi  ice  50  cents. 
The  Orplian's  Trials  ;  or.  the  Vices  of  the  Age. 

An  autobiography.     Two  vols..  paper  cover.     Price 

One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Family  Pride.  By  author  of  "Pique."  Two 
vols.,  paper  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth, 
for  $1.25 

Self-Sacrifice;    or,  The   Devoted  Sister. 

By  author  of  "  Passages  in  life  of  Margaret  Mait- 
land."  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1  00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 

My  First   Season   in    Society.      By  Beatrice 

Reynolds,  author  of  "Charles  Aucliester,'1  "Coun 
terparts,"  etc.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth 

for  $1.25. 
Tlie   Carpenter's   Daughter.     A  Companion 

to  the  "  Lamplighter, "  "  Watchman,"  etc.     By  W. 

E.   S.    Whitman.     Two   vols.,   paper,   $1.00;    or   iu 

oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Fond  Lovers;  or,  the  Lady  of  the  West. 

By  John  Ballon.     Two   vols.,  paper  cover.     Price 

Oue  Dollar ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  King's  Daughter ;  or  the  Price  of  a 

Crown.      By   Eugene    Sue.      Two    vols.,   paper. 

Pi-ice  $1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 
Modern    Chivalry.      By   Judge  Brackenridge. 

Two  volumes,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Dollar ;  or 

in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Columbia,  the  Beautiful  Blonde.   A  novel. 

By   William    North.      Two   volumes,  paper  cover. 

Price  One  Dollar ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  Four  Heiresses.     A  Tale  founded  on  Fact. 

By  Augustiu   Kennedy.     Two  vols.,  paper.     Price 

$1.00;  or  in  cloth,  $1  25. 
The  Orphan  Girl.     By  Alice  Gray.     Two  vol*., 

paper.     Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
The  Orphans  of  Uiiswalden.  By  -Mrs. Shelley. 

Two  vols.,  paper.     Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Lorrimer  Littlegood.     By  author  of  "Frank 

Fairleigh."  Tv«Tul*.,  paper.  Price  $1  ;  or  cloth  $1.25 
Flirlatioit.     A  navel.     By  Catharine  Sinclair,  au 
thor   of  "  Beatrice,"  etc.     Two  vols.,  paper   cover. 

Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
Mother   and    Daughter.      By   Mrs.   Percy  B 

Shelley.    Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 


WORKS 


PRESS     BY 
AUTHORS. 


THE     BEST 


The  Shadow  of  Aahtydyat.     By  Mrs.  Henry 
Wood,   author   of    "tast  Lyuue."      Two   volumes 
octavo,  paper  cover.     Price  Ouo  Dollar;  or  iu  01,0 
.volume,  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Runaway  Match.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood 
autlior  of  A  eruer'l  Pride,"  etc.  One  vol.,  octavo 
paper  cover.  Price  50  cents;  or  bouud  iu  oue  vol  ' 
cloth,  75  ceuts. 

Love  and  3Ioiiey  ;  or,  Aristocracy  in  the  Quaker 
City.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  "Rival  Belles." 
Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00;  or  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Fifty  years  in  Exile.  By  Herman  Melville, 
author  of  "Oiuoo,"  "Typee,"  etc.  Complete  ia 
two  volumes,  paper  cover,  price  $1.00;  or  iu  cue 
volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Masquerade.  By  Herman  Mellville,  au 
tlior  of  "Typee,''  '•  Omoo,"  etc.  Complete  in  two 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  iu  oue  vol., 
cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Enchanted  Isles.  By  Herman  Melville, 
author  of  "  Ornoo,"  "  Typee,"  etc.  Complete  in  two 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  in  one  vol., 
cloth,  $1.25. 

Higli  Life  in  Washington.  A  true  portrai 
ture  from  life,  of  real  persons  and  characters.  By 
Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasselle.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price 
Oue  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Pride  of  Life.  A  novel.  By  Lady  Scott, 
author  of  "The  Henpecked  Husband."  Oue  volume, 
cloth,  price  $1.25  ;  or  in  two  vols.,  paper  cover,  $1.00. 

The  Telegraph.  .^general  history  of  Land  and 
Oceanic  Telegraphs,  with  full  descriptions  of  all 
kinds  of  Telegraphic  Apparatus,  with  illustrations 
of  the  same.  Two  vols.,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 

Wilfred  Moutressor;  or,  the  Secret  Order  of 
the  Seven.  A  Romance  of  Life  in  the  IS'ew  York 
Metropolis.  Illustrated  with  87  Illustrative  Engra 
vings.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  Oue  Dollar. 

Sol.  Smith's  Adventures  and  Travels. 
With  beautiful  Illustrations  from  Designs  by  Darley. 
Complete  iu  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

Billy  Burton's  Humorous  Sketches. 
With  beautiful  Illustrations  by  Darley.  One  volume, 
cloth.  Price  Oue  Dollar  and  fifty  ceuts. 

Joe  Neal's  Adventures  and  Sketches. 
Eleven  Illustrations,  from  Original  Designs  by  Dar 
ley.  Complete  in  one  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

South-Western  Sketches  of  Humor. 
With  Eighteen  Illustrations  from  Original  Designs 
by  Darley.  Complete  in  one  volume,  bouud  in 
cloth.  Price  $1.50. 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Stories  and  Let 
ter*.  With  beautiful  Illustrations  from  Original 
Designs  by  Darley.  Complete  iu  one  volume,  cloth. 
Price  $1.50. 

Major  O'Regan's  and  Captain  Farrago's 
Adventures  and  Travels.  By  Judge  H. 
II.  Breckenridge.  Embellished  with  beautiful  Illus 
trative  Engravings  from  Original  Designs  by  Darley. 
Complete  iu  oue  vol.,  bound  in  cloth.  Price  $1.60. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Priest.  By  author 
"  Piuey  Woods  Tavern,"  "  Stray  Yankee  in  Texas," 
etc.  Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
$1.00;  or  bound  in  cloth,  for  $1.50. 

The  Rival  Belles  ;  or,  Life  in  Washington.  By 
J.  B.  Jones,  autlior  of  "Wild  Western  Scenes." 
Two  volumes,  paper.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  $1.25. 

Edgar  Trevor.  A  tale  of  Retribution,  founded 
on  facts  iu  real  life.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  $1.00  ;  or  iu  cloth,  for  $1.2.5. 

The  Farmer's  Guide  to  Farming  and. 
Gardening.  Complete  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25 

The  Two  Cousins.  By  P.  Hamilton  Myers 
Oue  volume,  cloth.  Price  $1.25. 

Courtenay  Hall.  A  true  talo  of  Virginia  Life 
By  Jam. -s  T.  Randolph,  Esq.  Oue  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Colonel  Van- 
tit- rlxnii h.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  "Wild 
WoMrrn  Scenes,"  "The  Rival  Belles,"  etc.  Two 
volumes,  paper,  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,  $1.25. 


Copies  of  any  of  the  above  Works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  Free  of  Postage,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


14         T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


J4URREL,  HARE  &>  TURPIN  SERIES. 

Price  Twenty -five  cents  each. 

Life  of  John  A^  Murrel,   the  Great  Western 
La 


'Lives  of  the  Felon*,"'  etc. 

Life  of  Joseph  T.  Hare,  the  Bold  Robber  and 
Highwayman,  with  Sixteen  spirited  illustrations. 
By  author  of  "  Life  of  Murrel,"  "  Hare,"  «tc. 

Life  of  Col.  Monroe  Edwards,  the  accom 
plished  Former  aud  Swindler,  with  Twenty-two 
illustrative  engravings.  By  author  of  "  Life  of  Mar- 
roll,"  "Hare,"  "Helen  Jewett,"  etc. 

Life  of  Helen  Jewett,  and  Richard  P. 
Robinson,  with  Thirteen  illustrations  of  the 
principal  scenes  in  the  book.  By  author  of  "Life  of 
Murrel,"  "Hare,"  "  Edwards,"  "  Felons,"  etc. 

Lives  of  the  Felons  ;  or  the  American  Crimi 
nal  Calendar.  Full  of  illustrative  engravings.  By 
the  author  of  "The  Life  of  Murrel,"  "Hare,"  etc. 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas,  the  Western  Burglar 
and  Murderer  ;  full  of  illustrations.  By  author  of 
"The  Life  of  Murrel,"  "Hare,"  "Turpin,"  etc. 

The  Life  of  Mrs.  Whipple  and  Jesse 
Strang.  Full  of  illustrative  engravings.  By  au 
thor  of  "  Life  of  Murrel,"  "  Hare,"  etc. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Dick:  Turpin, 
the  Highwayman,  Burglar,  Murderer,  Bobber,  etc., 
full  of  illustrative  engravings. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  the  Desperadoes 
of  the  New  "World  $  containing  an  account  of 
their  different  modes  of  Lynching,  the  Cane  Hill 
murders,  the  victims,  the  execution,  etc.,  etc.,  full 
of  illustrative  engraviug*. 

Obi  5  or,  Three-Plngered  Jack.  With  a 
full  account  of  his  Life  aud  Adventures.  By  author 
of  "The  Robber's  Wife." 

The  Robber's  Wife.  By  author  of  "Obi;  or, 
Life  of  Three-Fingered  Jack,"  etc. 

"Wau-Nan-Gee  ;  or,  the  Massacre  of  Chi 
cago.  An  Indian  Tale  of  the  War  Dance,  Scalp 
ing  Knife,  and  most  fearful  Scenes  of  the  War  of 
1S12.  By  Major  Richardson. 

Life  of  Captain  Biood,  the  Highway 
man;  and  the  Hangman's  Daughter. 

Captain  lilood  aud  the  Beagles  ;  or,  the 
Highway  man's  Leap  for  Life. 

The  Highwayman's  Avenger  5  or,  the 
Escape  of  Sixteen-Stringed  Jack. 

Sixteen-Stringed  Jack's  Fight  for  Life  5 
or,  the  Highwaymau  of  Hampstead  Heath, 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Arthur  Spring, 
the  murderer  of  Mrs.  Lynch  and  Mrs.  Shaw.  With 
illustrations  of  the  scene  of  the  murder,  etc. 

The  Mysteries  and  Miseries  of  New 
Orleans.  By  Ned  Buntliue. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Rody  the  Rover  j 

the  Ribbonman  of  Ireland.     By  William  Carleton. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jonathan  \Vild. 

By  Camden  Pelham. 

THE     "NAT    BLAKE"    SERIES. 

Price  Twenty-five  cents  each. 

Nat  Blake;  or,  the  Doomed  Highway 
man.  By  the  author  of  "Tom  Waters,  or  the 
Haunted  Highwayman,"  "  Ned  Hastings,  or  the 
Terror  of  the  Road,"  "  Bill  Horton,  or  the  Mysterious 
Highwayman,"  etc.  Full  of  illustrative  engravings. 

Tom  Waters;  or,  the  Haunted  High 
wayman.  By  the  author  of  "  Nat  Blake,"  "  Ned 
Hastings,"  "  Bill  Horton,"  etc.  Illustrated. 

Jfcd  Hastings;  or,  the  Terror  of  the 
Road.  By  author  of  "Nat  Blake,"  "Tom  Wa- 

<    ters,"  "  Bill  Horton,"  etc.     Illustrated. 

BUI  Horton  ;  or,  the  Mysterious  High, 
wayman.  By  the  author  of  "  Ned  Hastings," 
"Nat  Blake, ""  Tom  Waters,"  etc.  Illustrated. 


THE    "NAT   BLAKE"    SERIES 

Price  Tictnty-five  cents  each. 

Life  of  Dick  Parker,  the  Pirate  und  Mutineer. 
By  Camdeu  IVlhaw,  Esq.,  author  of  "Life  of  Jack 
Ketch,"  "  Galloping  Dick,"  "  Mother  Browurigg," 
"  Mary  Bateuiau, "  etc. 

Life  of  Jack  Ketch,  the  Murderer  and  Public 
Executioner.  By  Camden  Pelham,  Esq.  Illustrated, 

Life  of  Mother  Brownrigg,  the  Female 
Torturer  aud  Murderer.  By  Camdeii  Pelhani. 
Illustrated. 

Life  of  Galloping  Dick,  the  Noted  Highway 
man.  By  Camdeu  Pelham,  Esq. 

Life  of  Mary  15  at  email,  the  Female  Sorceress. 
By  Camdeu  Pelham,  Esq. 

Life  of  Raoul  De  Surville.  A  Tale  of  the 
Empire.  By  Eugeue  Sue. 

HARRY    HAZEL'S    SERIES. 

Price  Twenty-five  cents  each. 
The   Brigand;   or,  the  Mountain  Chief* 

By  Harry  Hazel,  author  of  "Gallant  Tom,"  "The 
Three  Pirates,"  "  The  Flying  Artillerist,"    "  Yankee 
Jack,"  etc.     Full  of  illustrations. 
Gallant  Tom;  or,  the  Perils  of  the  Ocean. 
By  Harry  Hazel,   author  of  "The  Brigand,"  "The 
Three  Pirates,"  "The  Flying  Artillerist,"  etc. 
The    Flying   Artillerist  ;    a  Tale  of  Mexican 
Treachery.    By   Harry    Hazel,  author  of    "  Gallant 
Torn,"  "Yankee  Jack,"  etc.,  illustrated. 
Yankee  Jack;  or  the  Perils  of  a  Priva- 
teersmaii.     A  Romance  of  the  War.     By  Harry 
Hazel.     Full  of  illustrations. 

The  Three  Pirates  ;  or,  the  Cruise  of  the 
Tornado.    By  Harry  Hazel,  author  of  "  Gallant 
Tom,"   "  Yankee  Jack."    Full  of  illustrations. 
The   Flying   Yankee  ;    or,   the  Cruise  of   the 
Clippers.     ATale  of  Privateering.     By  Harry  Hazel, 
author  of  "  Gallant  Tom,"  etc.    Full  of  illustrations. 
Red  King;  or,  the  Corsair  Chieftain.    A 
Romance  of  the  Ocean.     By  Harry  Hazel,  author  of 
"  Flying  Yankee,"  etc.     Full  of  illustrations. 

The  King's  Cruisers  ;  or,  the  Rebel  and 

the  Rover.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
Sylvia  Seabury;  or,  the  Yankees  in  Ja 
pan.      The   romantic  adventures  of  a  Sailor-Boy. 

By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
The  Doomed  Ship  ;  or,  the  Wreck  of  the  Arctic 

Regions.     By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
Jack  Junk;    or,   the  Tar  for  all  Weathers.    By 

Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated.         ^ 
Harry  Helm  ;  or,  the  Cruise  of   the  Bloodhound. 

By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
The    Rebel    and    the  Rover.    A  Tale  of  a 

Piratical  Cruiser.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
Harry    Tempest ;    or,   the   Pirate's  Protege.     A 

Buccaneering  Tale.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
The    Flying   Dutchman;     or,   the   Wedding 

Guest  of  Amsterdam.    By  Harry  Hazel.  Illustrated. 
Sweeny  Todd;    or,  the  Ruffian  Barber.     A  Tale 

of  Terrors  of  the  Seas.   By  Harry  Hazel.   Illustrated. 
The  Gold  Seekers  ;  or,  the  Cruise  of  the  Lively 

Sally.     By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
Galloping  Gus  ;    or,  the   Purse   and  the 

Pistol.     By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
Ralph  U  unit  ion  ;  or,  the  Out  law's  Doom. 

A  Tale  of  the  Revolution.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
Old  Put  ;   or,   the   Days  of  Seventy-Six. 

A  Revolutionary  Story.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
The   Yankee  Middy;    or,  the  Two  Fri 
gates.    By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 
Valdez,  the  Pirate  ;  or,  Scenes  off  Long  Island, 

the  Fire-Island  Wreckers,  etc.     By  Harry  Hazel. 
The   Rebel  Bride.     A  Revolutionary  Romance. 

By  Harry  Hazel. 
The  Pirate's  Son.    A  Tale  of  a  Privateersman. 

By  Harry  Hazel.     Illustrated. 


Igf  Booksellers  and  News  Agents,  etc.,  will  be  supplied  with  any  of  aboue  at  very  Low"  Kates. 


tgi"  Any  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  free  of  Postage,  to  any  part  of  the  United 
States,  on  mailing  price  of  ones  wanted,  in  a  letter,  to  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Frothers,  Pbilada. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  LIST  OF  PUBLICATIONS. 


15 


"JACK    RANN"    SERIES. 

Price  Twenty -five  cents  each: 

Life  of  Jack  Rann;  alias  Sixteen- 
Stringed  Jack,  the  notorious  Highwayman  and 
Kobber,  with  a  lull  history  of  his  adventures.  Full 
of  illustrated  engravings.  By  author  of  "  Morgan  the 
Buccaneer,"  "KitClayton,"  "Davis,  the  Pirate,'  etc. 

Kit  Clayton  ;  or,  the  Hero  of  the  Road.  A  Sequel 
to  "Life  of  Jack  Rann,  alias  Sixteen-Stringed 
Jack."  By  author  of  "  Morgan,  the  Buccaneer." 

Life  of  Morgan,  the  Buccaneer;  or,  the 
Freebooters  of  the  Antilles.  By  author 
of  "  Life  of  Jack  Ranu,  alias  Sixteeu-Striuged  Jack," 
"  Life  and  Adventures  of  Alexander  Tardy,"  "  Life 
of  Davis,  the  Pirate,"  "The  Seven  Brothers  of 
Wyoming,"  "Silver  and  Pewter,"  etc. 

Davis,  the  Pirate;  or,  the  Freebooters 
of  the  Pacinc.  By  author  of  "  Life  of  Morguu, 
the  Buccaneer,"  "  Alexander  Tardy,"  etc. 

Life  of  Alexander  Tardy,  the  Pirato  Chief  of 
St.  Domingo  and  the  West  Indies.  Full  of  illustra 
tions.  By  author  of  "Morgan,  the  Buccaneer." 

The  Seven  Brothers  of  Wyoming  $  or 
the  Brigands  of  the  Revolution.  By  author  of 
"  Morgan,  the  Buccaneer,"  "  Kit  Clayton,"  etc. 

Silver  and  Pewter.  A  tale  of  High  Life  and 
Low  Life  in  the  City  of  New  York.  By  author  of 
"The  Seven  Brothers  of  Wyoming,"  etc. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Ninon  De  L'En- 
clos,  the  celebrated  Aspasia  of  France,  with  her 
celebrated  Letters  on  Love,  Courtship  and  Marriage; 
aud  the  Mysteries  of  Marriage.  Illustrated. 

The  River  Pirates.  A  Tale  of  New  York. 
Taken  from  the  Records  of  the  New  York  Police 
Courts.  By  author  of  "  Dark  Shades  of  City  Life." 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life.  A  Sequel  to  "  The 
River  ..;s,"  and  by  the  same  author. 

Female  Life  in  New  York  City.  Illustrated 
with  Forty-four  Female  Portraits,  taken  from  real 
life  in  the  C..y  of  New  York. 

The  Mysteries  of  Bedlam;  or,  the  Inside  of 
this  noted  London  Mad-House  exposed.  By  one  who 
was  there  for  over  twenty  years. 

Charles  Raiisford ;  or,  Love  on  Board  a 
Cruiser.  \  Romance  of  the  Sea.  By  Captain 
Chamier,  of  the  Hoyal  Navy. 

The  American  Joe  Miller;  or,  Punch  for  the 
Million.  Illustrated  with  over  One  hundred  engra 
vings,  draw*  by  Henry  Meadows,  Cruikshauk, 
Leach,  Quiz,  etc.,  etc. 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine  5  or,  the  River  Bandits 
and  Thieves  of  Patis.  Illustrated. 

Eveleen  Wilson  5  or,  the  Trials  of  an  Orphan 
Girl.  Illustrated. 

The  Iron  Cross ;  or,  the  Countess  of  Errol.  A 
Tale  of  High  and  Low  Life.  By  Sylvanus  Cobb,  Jr. 

The  Diary  of  a  Pawnbroker ;  or,  the  Three 
Qolden  Balls.  Full  of  illustrative  engravings. 

Biddy  Wooilhull,  the  Beautiful  Hay 
maker.  By  J.  H.  Ingraham,  Esq. 

Red  "Wing;    or,  the  Wierd  Cruiser  of  Van  Die- 

m-.in's  Land.     By  Lieutenant  Raymond,  U.  S.  Navy. 
The  Female  Bluebeard  ;  or,  the  "Woman 

with  Many  Husbands.    By  Eugene  Sue. 
The  Mysteries  of  a  Convent.    This  is  a  book 

that  all  should  read. 
The  Mysterious  Marriage.    A  True  Romance 

of  Life  in  the  New  York  Metropolis. 
The  Monk.  One  of  the  greatest  books  ever  printed. 

By  M.  G.  Lewis,  Esq.,  M.P. 
The  Man-o'-War's-Man.    A  Tale  of  the  Sea. 

By  Eugene  Sue.  , 

The   Corsair.      A  Venetian    Tale.     By   Madame 

George  Sand. 
Woman's  Love.    A  True  Story  of  the  Heart.    By 

Eugene  Sue.     Illustrated. 

First  Love.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.   Price  25  cents. 
S*3?~Booksellers  and  News  Agents,  etc ,  will  be 


"CAPTAIN  MARRY ATT'S"  SERIES. 

Price  Twenty-five  cents  each. 
Jacob  Faithful. 

The  Phantom  Ship. 
The  King's  Own. 
Snarleyow  5  or,  the  Dog  Fiend. 

Midshipman  Easy. 

Frank  Mildmay;  or,  the  Naval  Oiliccr. 
Japhet  in  Search  of  a  Father. 
Newton  Forster. 
Pacha  of  Many  Tales. 
Pirate  and  Three  Cutters. 

•'MRS.   GREY'S"   SERIES. 

Price  Twenty-five   ents  each. 
The  Gipsy's  Daughter. 
Lena  Cameron,  or  the  Four  Sisters. 
The  Belle  of  the  Family. 
Sybil  Leiiuard. 
The  Duke  aud  the  Cousin. 

The  Little  Wife. 
The  Manoeuvring  M'ot  her. 
The  Old  Dower  House. 
The  Baronet's  Daughters. 
The  Young  Prima  Donna. 
Alice  Seymour,  a  Tale  of  Home. 
Hyacinthe,  or  the  Contrast. 

"JACK   SHEPPARD"   SERIES. 

Price  Fifty  cents  each. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Sheppard, 

the  most  noted  Burglar,  Robber,  and  Jail  Breaker, 

that  ever  lived.     With  thirty-nine  illustrations. 
Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Guy 

Fawkes.    The  Chief  of  the  Gunpowder  Tieason. 

With  Twenty-four  illustrations. 
The  Pictorial  Old  St.  Paul's.    A  Tale  of  the 

Plague  aud  the  Fire.     Full  of  illustrations. 
The    Star   Chamber.      Beautifully  illustrated. 

By  author  of  "  Jack  Sheppard,"  "  Guy  Fawkes,"  etc. 
Mysteries  of  *  he  Court  of  Queen  Anne. 

By  author  of  "  Jack  Sheppard." 
Mysteries  of  the   Court  of  the  Stuarts. 

By  author  of  "  Jack  Sheppard." 

"Windsor   Castle.      By  author   of    "Jack   Shep 
pard." 
Pictorial  Life  and  Adventures  of  Davy 

Crockett.    Full  of  illustrations. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Grace  O'Malley. 
Life  &  Adventures  of  Paul  Periwinkle. 

Full  of  illustrative  engravings. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Adams,  the 

celebrated  Sailor  and  Mutineer. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Ben  Brace,  the 

Sailor.     A  Nautical  Romance. 
The  Petrel ;  or,  Love  on  the  Ocean.    A  Sea  Novel. 

By  Admiral  Fisher,  of  the  English  Navy. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Jack  Ariel ;  or, 

Life  on  Board  an  East  Indiaman. 
Life  and  Adventures  of  Tom   Bowling, 

the  Sailor.     By  Capt.  Chamier,  of  the  Royal  Navy. 
Cruising  in  the  Last  War. 
Life  of  Percy  Kffingham. 
Percival  Keene.    A  Tale  of  the  Sea. 
The  Sea  King.    A  Tale  of  the  Sea. 
Peter  Simple  ;  or,  the  Adventures  of  a  Midship 
man. 

Poor  Jack.     A  Tale  of  the  Sea. 
Mysteries  of    Three     Cities:     Boston,   Now 

York,  and  Philadelphia.     By  A.  J.  H.  Dugauue. 

supplied  with  any  of  above  at  very  Low  Kates. 


ny  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  Mail,  free  of  Postage,  to  any  part  of  the  United 
States,  on  mailing  prices  of  ones  wanted,  in  a  letter,  to  I.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers, .Pliilad. 


